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!—