How shall I sing that ma­jes­ty
Which an­gels do ad­mire?
Let dust in dust and si­lence lie;
Sing, sing, ye heav’n­ly choir.
Thousands of thou­sands stand around
Thy throne, O God most high;
Ten thou­sand times ten thou­sand sound
Thy praise; but who am I?

Thy bright­ness un­to them ap­pears,
Whilst I Thy foot­steps trace;
A sound of God comes to my ears,
But they be­hold Thy face.
They sing be­cause Thou art their sun;
Lord, send a beam on me;
For where Heav’n is but once be­gun
There al­le­lu­ias be.

Enlighten with faith’s light my heart,
Inflame it with love’s fire;
Then shall I sing and bear a part
With that ce­les­ti­al choir.
I shall, I fear, be dark and cold,
With all my fire and light;
Yet when Thou dost ac­cept their gold,
Lord, trea­sure up my mite.

How great a be­ing, Lord, is Thine,
Which doth all be­ings keep!
Thy know­ledge is the on­ly line
To sound so vast a deep.
Thou art a sea with­out a shore,
A sun with­out a sphere;
Thy time is now and ev­er­more,
Thy place is ev­ery­where.

How good art Thou whose good­ness is
Our par­ent, nurse and guide;
Whose streams do wa­ter pa­ra­dise,
And all the Earth be­side!
Thine up­per and Thy ne­ther springs
Make both Thy worlds to thrive.
Kinder Thy warm and shel­ter­ing wings
Thou keep’st two broods al­ive.

Thy arm of might, most migh­ty King,
Both rocks and hearts doth break.
My God, Thou canst do ev­ery­thing
But what would show Thee weak?
Thou canst not cross Thy­self, or be
Less than Thy­self, or poor;
But what­so­ev­er pleas­eth Thee
That canst Thou do, and more.

Who would not fear Thy search­ing eye,
Witness to all that’s true?
Dark hell and deep­est hy­po­crite
Lie plain be­fore its view.
Motions and thoughts be­fore they grow
Thy know­ledge doth es­py,
What un­born ages are to do,
Is done be­fore Thine eye.

Thy wis­dom, which both makes and mends,
We ev­er much admire.
Creation all our wit tran­scends;
Redemption rises high­er.
Thy wisdom guides strayed sin­ners home,
’Twill make the dead world rise,
And bring those pri­son­ers to their doom;
Its paths are mys­ter­ies.

Great is Thy truth, and shall prev­ail
To un­be­liev­ers’ shame;
Thy truth and years do nev­er fail;
Thou ev­er art the same.
Unbelief is a rag­ing wave,
Dashing against a rock.
If God doth not His Is­ra­el save,
Then let Egyp­tians mock.

Most pure and ho­ly are Thine eyes,
Most ho­ly is Thy name;
Thy saints, and laws, and pe­nal­ties,
Thy ho­li­ness pro­claim.
This is the de­vil’s scourge and sting,
This is the an­gels’ song,
Who Ho­ly, holy, ho­ly sing
In heav’n­ly Ca­naan’s tongue.

Mercy, that shin­ing at­trib­ute,
The sin­ner’s hope and plea!
Huge hosts of sin in their pur­suit
Are drowned in Thy Red Sea;
Mercy is God’s me­mor­ial,
And in all ag­es praised;
My God, Thine on­ly Son did fall,
That mer­cy might be raised.

Thy bright back-parts, O God of grace,
I hum­bly here ad­ore;
Show me Thy glo­ry and Thy face,
That I may praise Thee more.
Since none can see Thy face and live,
For me to die is best;
Thro’ Jor­dan’s streams who would not dive
To land at Ca­naan’s rest?