He weighs the mountains in His scales
And in the balance, too.
He comprehends the dust of earth
His measures are all true.
The infinitely great and small
With counsel He assumes.
No wavering thought or change of plan ;
His steadfastness illumes.
And in His law of life and grace
Just balance He commands.
‘Tis nothing more or nothing less
But justice He demands.
The offering of the lame, the blind,
The sick, diseased or torn,
The rightness of His holy claim
To treat deceit with scorn.
But what of those our inmost thought?
Ne’er known to those around,
While clad in virtuous robes all seen
Yet in the heart abound.
The rites of Pharisaical praise
The love of transient life,
The loveless tones in songs of praise
Concealing thoughts of strife.
‘Tis time for evening sacrifice
With all the gracious thought.
Renewed in faith through earnest prayer,
We plead the wrongs we’ve wrought
May be washed from their scarlet stain
And cleansed white like to snow.
Restored to sing salvations songs
The peace of God to know.
The Origin of the Organic World – Part One