Thine are the ri­vers: Thine, O God, the pow­er
That bids them bear their wa­ters to the sea;
No cloud is mir­rored there at morn­ing hour,
No wave up­lifts its surg­ing an­them free,
Until the great com­mand is heard from Thee.

Thine are the mount­ains. To the thun­ders nigh,
Sounding their ec­ho through the length of days,
Unawed they stand, like gi­ants tow­er­ing high,
In monu­ment­al state to speak Thy praise,
Unshaken still, though lightn­ings are ablaze.

Thine are the for­ests, circ­ling mile on mile,
Where la­by­rin­thine paths un­trod­den wind,
Until our souls, all doubts to re­con­cile,
Turn from these wid­en­ing realms to Thee, to find
The migh­ty pur­pose of Thy migh­ti­er mind.

Thine are all worlds, and Thine all realms of space,
Whereon the stars mark out their shin­ing course;
Whate’er the sun­light clasps in its em­brace,
Bears the im­press of love, whose ten­der force
Kindles the soul and trac­es out its source.

Thine are the heav’ns; the won­drous arch of blue
Up which the mon­arch sun shall proud­ly climb,
And Thine the clouds of gold and pur­ple hue,
With plan­ets laugh­ing at the march of time,
And sha­dow­ing forth Thy mys­ter­ies sub­lime.

Thine are our souls! Our be­ings blend with Thine,
Upreaching to­ward Thee through these long­ings high,
Stamped with Thy seal, and hear­ing coun­ter­sign
Of that One Life in us, that grows di­vine,
By love il­lumed, as we to Thee draw nigh.