1 O could I so perfidious be,
To think of once deserting Thee!
Where, Lord, could I thy Influence shun?
Or, whither from thy Presence, run?

2 If up to Heav'n I take my Flight—
'Tis there thou dwell'st enthron'd in Light:
If down to Hell's infernal Plains—
'Tis there Almighty Vengeance reigns.

3 If I the Morning's Wings could gain,
And fly beyond the Western Main,
Thy swifter Hand would first arrive,
And there arrest thy Fugitive.

4 Or, should I try to shun thy Sight
Beneath the sable Wings of Night;
One Glance from Thee, one piercing Ray
Would kindle Darkness into Day.

5 The Veil of Night is no Disguise,
No Screen from thy all-searching Eyes:
Thro' Midnight Shades thou find'st thy Way,
As in the blazing Noon of Day.