The sea­sons are fixed by wis­dom di­vine,
The slow-chang­ing moon shows forth God’s de­sign;
The sun in his cir­cuit his mak­er ob­eys,
And run­ning his jour­ney hastes not nor de­lays.

The Lord makes the night, when, leav­ing their lair,
The li­ons creep forth, God’s boun­ty to share;
The Lord makes the morn­ing, when beasts steal away
And men are be­gin­ning the work of the day.

How ma­ny and wise Thy works are, O Lord!
The earth with the wealth of wis­dom is stored;
The sea bears in safe­ty the ships to and fro,
And crea­tures un­numbered it shel­ters be­low.

Thy crea­tures all look to Thee for their food;
Thy hands op­en wide, they ga­ther the good;
Thy face Thou con­ceal­est, in ang­uish they yearn;
Their breath Thou with­hold­est, to dust they re­turn.

Thy Spir­it, O Lord, makes life to abound,
The earth is re­newed, and fruit­ful the ground;
To God as­cribe glo­ry and wis­dom and might,
Let God in His crea­tures for­ev­er de­light.

Before the Lord’s might earth trem­bles and quakes,
The mount­ains are rent, and smoke from them breaks;
The Lord I will wor­ship through all of my days,
Yea, while I have be­ing my God I will praise.

Rejoicing in God, my thought shall be sweet,
While sin­ners depart in ru­in com­plete;
My soul, bless Je­ho­vah, His name be ad­ored,
Come, praise Him, ye peo­ple, and wor­ship the Lord.