Scripture Verse

The only true God. John 17:3


William Gardiner (1770–1853)
British Museum

Words: Ernst Lange, in Neu­es geist­reich­es Ge­sang­buch, by Jo­hann A. Frey­ling­hau­sen, 1714 (O Gott, du Tie­fe son­der Grund). Trans­lat­ed from Ger­man to English by John Wes­ley, 1737, cen­to.

Music: Ger­ma­ny, Sac­red Me­lo­dies, by Will­iam Gar­di­ner, 1815 (🔊 pdf nwc).

If you know where to get a good pic­ture of Lange (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),

John Wesley (1703–1791)

The hymn passed in­to the Wes. H. Bk., 1780, in two parts, Nos. 231 and 232 (ed. 1875, Nos. 240, 241). In other hymn-books it has ap­peared in a va­ri­ety of cen­tos…these are all from the text of the Wes. H. Bk., more or less al­tered and tran­sposed.

Julian, p. 638


Thou, true and on­ly God, lead’st forth
Th’immortal ar­mies of the sky;
Thou laugh’st to scorn the gods of earth,
Thou thun­der­est, and am­azed they fly.

With down­cast eye th’an­gel­ic choir
Appear before Thy aw­ful face;
Trembling they strike the gold­en lyre,
And through Heav’n’s vault re­sound Thy praise,

In earth, in Hea­ven, in all Thou art;
The con­sci­ous crea­ture feels Thy nod,
Whose form­ing hand on ev­ery part
Impressed the im­age of its God.

Thine, Lord, is wis­dom, Thine alone;
Justice and truth be­fore Thee stand;
Yet, near­er to Thy sacr­ed throne,
Mercy with­holds Thy lift­ed hand.

Each ev­en­ing shows Thy ten­der love,
Each ris­ing morn Thy plen­te­ous grace
Thy wak­ened wrath doth slow­ly move,
Thy will­ing mer­cy flies apace.

To Thy be­nign in­dul­gent care,
Father, this light, this breath we owe;
And all we have, and all we are,
From Thee, great source of be­ing, flow.

Parent of good, Thy boun­te­ous hand
Incessant bless­ings down dis­tils,
And all in air, or sea, or land,
With plen­te­ous food and glad­ness fills.

All things in Thee live, move, and are,
Thy pow­er in­fused doth all sus­tain;
E’en those Thy dai­ly fa­vors share
Who thank­less spurn Thy ea­sy reign.

Thy sun Thou bidd’st his ge­ni­al ray
Alike on all im­par­tial pour;
To all, who hate or bless Thy sway,
Thou bidd’st des­cend the fruit­ful show­er.

Yet, while at length who scorned Thy might
Shall feel Thee a con­sum­ing fire,
How sweet the joys, the crown how bright,
Of those who to Thy love as­pire!

All crea­tures, praise th’eter­nal name!
Ye hosts that to His court be­long,
Cherubic choirs, se­ra­phic flames,
Awake the ev­er­last­ing song!

Thrice Holy! Thine the king­dom is,
The pow­er om­ni­po­tent is Thine,
And when cre­at­ed na­ture dies,
Thy ne­ver-ceas­ing glo­ries shine.