Ere God had built the mount­ains,
Or raised the fruit­ful hills;
Before He filled the foun­tains
That feed the run­ning rills;
In me from ev­er­last­ing,
The won­der­ful I Am,
Found plea­sures ne­ver wast­ing,
And Wis­dom is my name.

When, like a tent to dwell in,
He spread the skies abroad,
And swathed about the swell­ing
Of Ocean’s migh­ty flood;
He wrought by weight and mea­sure,
And I was with Him then:
Myself the Fa­ther’s plea­sure,
And mine, the sons of men.

Thus Wis­dom’s words dis­co­ver
Thy glo­ry and Thy grace,
Thou ev­er­last­ing Lov­er
Of our un­wor­thy race!
Thy gra­cious eye sur­veyed us
Ere stars were seen above;
In wis­dom Thou hast made us,
And died for us in love.

And couldst Thou be de­light­ed
With crea­tures such as we,
Who, when we saw Thee, slight­ed,
And nail­ed Thee to a tree?
Unfathomable won­der,
And mys­te­ry di­vine!
The voice that speaks in thun­der,
Says, Sin­ner, I am thine!