Sonnet Translated From The French Of M. Desbarreaux Poem by Henry Kirke White

Thy judgments, Lord, are just; thou lovest to wear
The face of pity and of love divine;
But mine is guilt-thou must not, canst not spare,
While heaven is true, and equity is thine.
Yes, oh my God!-such crimes as mine, so dread,
Leave but the choice of punishment to thee;
Thy interest calls for judgment on my head,
And even thy mercy dares not plead for me!
Thy will be done, since 'tis thy glory's due,
Did from mine eyes the endless torrents flow;
Smite-it is time-though endless death ensue,
I bless the avenging hand that lays me low.
But on what spot shall fall thine anger's flood,
That has not first been drench'd in Christ's atoning blood?