YE works of God, on him alone,
In earth his footstool, heav'n his throne,
Be all your praise bestow'd;
Whose hand the beauteous fabric made;
Whose the finish'd work survey'd,
And saw that all was good.
Ye angels, who with loud acclaim
Admiring, view'd the new-born frame,
And hail'd th' eternal King;
Again proclaim your Maker's praise,
Again your thankful voices raise,
And touch the tuneful string,
Praise him, ye bright etherial Plains,
Where in full majesty he deigns
To fix his awful throne;
Ye waters, that above them roll,
From orb to orb, from pole to pole,
Oh make his praises known.
Thrones, dominations, virtues, pow'rn,
Oh join your joyful songs with ours,
With us your voices raise :
From age to age, from day to day,
To Heav'n's eternal Monarch pay
Hymns of eternal praise.
Celestial orb, whose pow'rful ray
Opes the glad eyelids of the day,
Whose influence all things own;
Praise him, whose courts effulgent shine
With light, as far excelling thine,
As thine the paler moon.
Ye glittering planets of the sky,
Whose beams the absent sun supply,
With him the song pursue;
And let himself submissive own,
He borrows from a brighter sun,
The light he lends to you.
Ye show'rs and dews, whose moisture shed Calls into life the op'ning seed,
To him your praises yield;
Whose influence wakes the genial birth,
Drops fatness on the pregnaut earth,
And crowns the laughing field.
Ye winds that oft tempestuous sweep
The ruffled surface of the deep,
With us confess your God:
See through the heavens the King of king,
Upborne on your expauded wings,
Comes flying all abroad.
Ye floods of fire, whene'er
With just submission humbly bow
To his superior pow'r;
Who stops the tempest on its way,
Or bids the flaming deluge stay,
And gives it strength to roar.
Ye Summer's heat and Winter's cold,
By turns, in long succession roll'd,
The drooping world to cheer;
Praise him, who gave the sun and moon,
To lead the varions seasons on,
And guide the circling year.
Ye frosts that bind the wat'ry plain,
Ye silent showers of fleecy rain,
Pursue the heav'nly theme;
Praise him, who sheds the driving snow,
Forbids the harden'd waves to flow,
And stops the rapid stream.
Ye days and nights, that swiftly borne
From morn to eve, from eve to morn,
Alternate glide away;
Praise him, whose never-varying light,
Absent, adds horror to the night,
But, present, gives the day.
Light, from whose rays all beauty springs,
Darkness, whose wide-expanded wings
Involve the dusky globe:
Praise him, who, when the heavens he spread, Darkness his thick pavilion made,
And light his regal robe.
Praise him, ye lightnings, as ye fly,
Wing'd with hot vengeance through the sky,
And red with wrath divine;
Praise him, ye clouds, that wand'ring stray,
Or, fix'd by him in close array,
Surround his awful shrine.
EXALT, O earth, thy heav'nly King,
Who bids the plants that from thee spring,
With annual verdure bloom;
Whose frequent drops of kindly rain
Prolific swell the rip'ning grain,
And bless thy fertile womb.
Ye mountains, that ambitious rise,
And lift your summits to the skies,
Revere his awful nod;
Think how ye once affrighted fled,
While Jordan sought his fountain head,
And own'd th' approaching God.
Ye trees that fill the rural scene;
Ye flowers that o'er th' enamell'd gres.
In native beauty reign;
O praise the Ruler of the skies,
Whose hand the genial sap supplies,
And clothes the thankful plain.
Ye secret springs, and gentle rills,
That murmuring rise ainong the hilis,
Or fill the humbler vale;
Praise him, at whose Almighty nod
The rugged rock dissolving flow'd,
And formed a springing well.
Praise him, ye floods, and seas profound,
Whose waves the spacious earth surround,
And roll from shore to shore;
w'd by his voice, ye seas, subside, ods within your channels glide, tremble, and adore.
Ye whales, that in the ocean play,
Or, slumb'ring in the wat'ry way,
In shoals unnumber'd lie;
Praise him, by whom ye all are fed,
Praise him, without whose heav'nly and
Ye sicken, faint, and die.
Ye birds, exalt your Maker's name,
Begin, and with the important theme
Your artless lays improve;
Wake with your songs the rising day,
Let music sound from every spray,
And fill the vocal grove.
Praise him, ye beasts, that nightly reeri
Amid the solitary gloom,
Th' expected prey to seize;
Ye slaves of the laborious plough,
Your stubborn necks obsequious bow,
And bend your wearied knees.
Ye sons of men, his praise display,
stampt his image on your clay,
gave it pow'r to move :
Ye that in Judah's confines dwell,
From age to age successive tell
The wonders of his love.
Let Levi's tribe the lay prolong,
Till angels listen to the song,
And bend attentive down;
Let wonder seize the heavenly train, Pleas'd while they hear a mortal strain So sweet, so like their own.
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