A HYMN

My Maker! of thy power the trace

In every creature's form and face

The wond'ring soul surveys:

Thy wisdom, infinite above

Seraphic thought, a Father's love

As infinite displays!

From all that meets or eye or ear,

There falls a genial holy fear

Which, like the heavy dew of morn,

Refreshes while it bows the heart forlorn!

Great God! thy works how wondrous fair!

Yet sinful man didst thou declare

The whole Earth's voice and mind!

Lord, ev'n as Thou all-present art,

O may we still with heedful heart

Thy presence know and find!

Then, come what will, of weal or woe,

Joy's bosom-spring shall steady flow;

For though‘ tis Heaven THYSELF to see,

Where but thy Shadow falls, Grief cannot be!—