There is a book that all may read,
Which heav’n­ly truth im­parts,
And all the lore its scho­lars need,
Pure eyes and Chris­tian hearts.

The works of God above, be­low,
Within us and around,
Are pag­es in that book, to show
How God Him­self is found.

The glo­ri­ous sky, em­brac­ing all,
Is like the Mak­er’s love,
Wherewith en­com­passed, great and small
In peace and or­der move.

The moon above, the Church below,
A won­drous race they run,
But each their ra­di­ance, all their glow,
Each bor­rows of its sun.

The Sav­ior lends the light and heat
That crown His ho­ly hill;
The saints, like stars, around His seat
Perform their cour­ses still.

The saints above are stars in Heav’n—
What are the saints on earth?
Like trees they stand whom God has giv’n
Our Eden’s hap­py birth.

Faith is their fixed, un­swerv­ing root,
Hope their unfad­ing flow­er,
Fair deeds of cha­ri­ty their fruit,
The glo­ry of their bow­er.

The dew of Heav’n is like Thy grace,
It steals in si­lence down;
But where it lights, the fa­vored place
By rich­est fruits is known.

One name, above all glo­ri­ous names,
With its ten thou­sand tongues
The ev­er­last­ing sea pro­claims,
And ech­oes an­gel songs.

The rag­ing fire, the roar­ing wind,
Thy bound­less pow­er dis­play,
But in the gent­ler breeze we find
The Spir­it’s view­less way.

Two worlds are ours: ’tis on­ly sin
Forbids us to des­cry
The mys­tic Heav’n and earth with­in,
Plain as the sea and sky.

Thou, who hast giv’n me eyes to see,
And love this sight so fair,
Give me a heart to find out Thee,
And read Thee ev­ery­where.