Begin, my tongue, some heav’n­ly theme
And speak some bound­less thing;
The migh­ty works, or migh­ti­er name
Of our eter­nal king.

Tell of His won­drous faith­ful­ness
And sound His pow­er abroad;
Sing the sweet pro­mise of His grace,
And the per­form­ing God.

Proclaim sal­va­tion from the Lord
For wretch­ed, dy­ing men;
His hand has writ the sac­red word
With an im­mor­tal pen.

Engraved as in eter­nal brass
The migh­ty pro­mise shines;
Nor can the pow­ers of dark­ness rase
Those ev­er­last­ing lines.

He that can dash whole worlds to death,
And make them when He please,
He speaks, and that al­migh­ty breath
Fulfills His great de­crees.

His ve­ry word of grace is strong
As that which built the skies;
The voice that rolls the stars along
Speaks all the pro­mis­es.

He said, Let the wide heav’n be spread,
And heav’n was stretched abroad:
Abram, I’ll be thy God, He said,
And He was Ab­ram’s God.

O might I hear Thine heav’n­ly tongue
But whis­per, Thou art Mine!
Those gen­tle words shall raise my song
To notes al­most di­vine.

How would my leap­ing heart re­joice,
And think my heav’n se­cure!
I trust the all-cre­at­ing voice,
And faith de­sires no more.