Lord of earth! Thy form­ing hand,
Well this beau­te­ous frame hath planned—
Woods that wave, and hills that tow­er—
Ocean roll­ing in his pow­er;
All that strikes the gaze un­sought—
All that charms the lone­ly thought—
Friendship—gem tran­scend­ing price—
Love—a flow­er from pa­ra­dise—
Yet amidst this scene so fair,
Should I cease Thy smile to share,
What were all its joys to me?
Whom have I on earth but Thee?

Lord of Heav’n, be­yond our sight
Rolls a world of pur­er light;
There in love’s un­cloud­ed reign,
Severed friends shall meet again:
Martyrs there, and pro­phets high,
Blaze a glo­ri­ous com­pa­ny;
While im­mor­tal mu­sic rings
From un­num­bered ser­aph strings—
O! that world is pass­ing fair;
Yet, if Thou wert ab­sent there,
What were all its joys to me?
Whom have I in Heav’n but Thee?

Lord of earth and Heav’n! my breast
Seeks in Thee its on­ly rest;
I was lost; Thy ac­cents mild
Homeward lured Thy wan­der­ing child:
I was blind! Thy healing ray
Charmed the long eclipse away;
Source of ev­ery joy I know,
Solace of my ev­ery woe;
O if once Thy smile di­vine
Ceased up­on my soul to shine,
What were earth or Heav’n to me?
Whom have I in each but Thee?