Our God, to whom we turn
When wea­ry with il­lu­sion,
Whose stars se­rene­ly burn
Above this earth’s con­fu­sion,
Thine is the migh­ty plan,
The stead­fast or­der sure
In which the world be­gan,
Endures, and will en­dure.

Thou art Thy­self the truth;
Though we who fain would find Thee,
Have tried, with thoughts un­couth,
In fee­ble words to bind Thee,
It is be­cause Thou art
We’re driv­en to the quest;
Till truth from false­hood part,
Our souls can find no rest.

All beau­ty speaks of Thee:
The mount­ains and the riv­ers,
The line of lift­ed sea,
Where spread­ing moon­light qui­vers,
The deep-toned or­gan blast
That rolls through arch­es dim,
Hints of the mu­sic vast
Of Thine eter­nal hymn.

Wherever good­ness lurks
We catch Thy tones ap­peal­ing;
Where man for jus­tice works
Thou art Thy­self re­veal­ing;
The blood of man, for man
On friend­ship’s al­tar spilt,
Betrays the mys­tic plan
On which Thy house is built.

Thou hid­den fount of love,
Of peace, and truth, and beau­ty,
Inspire us from above
With joy and strength for du­ty.
May Thy fresh light arise
Within each cloud­ed heart,
And give us op­en eyes
To see Thou as Thou art.