o majesty of the sovereign rule your open palm you have set over all power is yours to crush what you've made in your fist the molten core to shift the earth's plates and should you choose to cast down your rod all nations would wail at the wall of your flood in our titanic enterprise we cannot defy and long survive pity is hidden . . . from my eyes saith the lord with sympathy stirred i'll not execute my wrath i'll not again destroy ephraim for i am god and not man the holy one in your midst with terror i will not come i will ransom them from the power of the grave from the hand of sheol . . . redeemed o d**h i will be your plagues o grave i will be your demise