We sing of God, the migh­ty source
Of all things; the stu­pen­dous force
On which all strength de­pends;
From whose right arm, be­neath whose eyes,
All pe­ri­od, pow’r, and en­ter­prise
Commences, reigns, and ends.

The world, the clus­t’ring spheres He made,
The glo­ri­ous light, the sooth­ing shade;
Dale, cham­paign, grove and hill;
The mul­ti­tu­din­ous abyss,
Where na­ture joys in sec­ret bliss,
And wis­dom hides her skill.

Tell them I Am, Je­ho­vah said,
To Mos­es while on earth in dread
And smit­ten to the heart;
At once, ab­ove, be­neath, around,
All na­ture with­out voice or sound
Replied, O Lord, Thou art.

Glorious the sun in mid ca­reer;
Glorious the as­sembled fires ap­pear;
Glorious the com­et’s train:
Glorious the trum­pet and alarm;
Glorious the al­migh­ty stretched-out arm;
Glorious the en­rap­tured main:

Glorious, most glo­ri­ous, is the crown
Of Him that brought sal­va­tion down
By meek­ness, Ma­ry’s son;
Seers that stu­pen­dous truth be­lieved,
And now the match­less deed’s achieved,
Determined, dared, and done.