All beau­ti­ful the march of days,
As sea­sons come and go;
The Hand that shaped the rose hath wrought
The crys­tal of the snow;
Hath sent the hoa­ry frost of Heav’n,
The flow­ing wa­ters sealed,
And laid a si­lent love­li­ness
On hill and wood and field.

O’er white ex­pans­es spark­ling pure
The ra­di­ant morns un­fold;
The so­lemn splen­dors of the night
Burn bright­er than the cold;
Life mounts in ev­ery throb­bing vein,
Love deep­ens round the hearth,
And clear­er sounds the an­gel hymn,
Good will to men on earth.

O Thou from whose un­fa­thomed law
The year in beau­ty flows,
Thyself the vi­sion pass­ing by
In crys­tal and in rose,
Day un­to day doth ut­ter speech,
And night to night pro­claim,
In ev­er chang­ing words of light,
The won­der of Thy name.