My God, how won­der­ful Thou art,
Thy ma­jes­ty, how bright,
How beau­ti­ful Thy mer­cy seat
In depths of burn­ing light!

How dread are Thine eter­nal years,
O ev­er­last­ing Lord!
By pros­trate spir­its day and night
Incessantly ad­ored!

How beau­ti­ful, how beau­ti­ful,
The sight of Thee must be,
Thine end­less wis­dom, bound­less pow­er,
And aw­ful pu­ri­ty!

O how I fear Thee, liv­ing God!
With deep­est, ten­der­est fears,
And wor­ship Thee with trem­bling hope,
And pe­ni­ten­tial tears.

Yet I may love Thee too, O Lord!
Almighty as Thou art,
For Thou hast stooped to ask of me
The love of my poor heart.

Oh then this worse than worth­less heart
In pi­ty deign to take,
And make it love Thee, for Thy­self
And for Thy glo­ry’s sake.

No earth­ly fa­ther loves like Thee,
No mo­ther half so mild,
Bears and for­bears, as Thou hast done,
With me Thy sin­ful child.

Only to sit and think of God—
O what a joy it is!
To think the thought, to breathe the Name—
Earth has no high­er bliss!

Father of Je­sus! love’s re­ward!
What rap­ture it will be
Prostrate be­fore Thy throne to lie,
And gaze and gaze on Thee!