Eternal pow­er, whose high abode
Becomes the gran­deur of a God,
Infinite lengths be­yond the bounds
Where stars re­solve their lit­tle rounds.

The low­est step around Thy seat,
Rises too high for Ga­bri­el’s feet;
In vain the tall arch­an­gel tries
To reach Thine height with won­der­ing eyes.

Thy daz­zling beau­ties whilst he sings,
He hides his face be­hind his wings,
And ranks of shin­ing thrones around
Fall wor­ship­ing, and spread the ground.

Lord, what shall earth and ash­es do?
We would adore our mak­er, too;
From sin and dust to Thee we cry,
The Great, the Ho­ly, and the High!

Earth from afar has heard Thy fame,
And worms have learned to lisp Thy name;
But, O! the glo­ries of Thy mind
Leave all our soar­ing thoughts be­hind.

God is in Hea­ven, and men be­low;
Be short our tunes, our words be few;
A sac­red rev­er­ence checks our songs,
And praise sits si­lent on our tongues.