4 On all thou smil'st; and what is man Before thy presence, God; A breath, but yesterday inspired, To-morrow but a clod. That clod shall mingle in the vale, But, kindled, Lord, by thee, The spirit to thy arms shall spring, To life, to liberty.
"Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge."
1 The heavens, O Lord! thy power proclaim, And the earth echoes back thy name; Ten thousand voices speak thy might, And day to day, and night to night, Utter thy praise--thou Lord above! Thy praise, thy glory, and thy love.
2 And nature with its countless throng, And sun, and moon, and planets' song, And every flower that light receives, And every dew that tips the leaves, And every murmur of the sea-- Tunes its sweet voice to worship Thee.
3 Thy name thy glories they rehearse, Great Spirit of the universe; Sense of all sense, and soul of soul, Nought is too vast for thy control; The meanest and the mightiest share Alike thy kindness and thy care.
"Consider the lilies of the field;--behold the fowls of the air."
1 Lo! the lilies of the field! How their leaves instruction yield! Hark to nature's lesson given By the blessed birds of heaven! Every bush and tufted tree Warbles trust and piety: Children, banish doubt and sorrow,-- God provideth for the morrow.
2 One there lives, whose guardian eye Guides our earthly destiny; One there lives, who, Lord of all, Keeps his children lest they fall: Pass we, then, in love and praise, Trusting him, through all our days, Free from doubt and faithless sorrow,-- God provideth for the morrow.
1 God of the fair and open sky! How gloriously above us springs The tented dome, of heavenly blue, Suspended on the rainbow's rings! Each brilliant star, that sparkles through Each gilded cloud that wanders free In evening's purple radiance, gives The beauty of its praise to thee.
2 God of the rolling orbs above, Thy name is written clearly bright In the warm day's unvarying blaze, Or evening's golden shower of light: For every fire that fronts the sun, And every spark that walks alone Around the utmost verge of heaven, Were kindled at thy burning throne.
3 God of the world, the hour must come, And nature's self to dust return; Her crumbling altars must decay; Her incense-fires shall cease to burn; But still her grand and lovely scenes Have made man's warmest praises flow, For hearts grow holier as they trace The beauty of the world below.