Thee Lord My Soul Aspires To Sing

Thee, Lord, my Soul aspires to sing,
Almighty, everlasting King,
Creator! wondrous to survey
Thy works excite the grateful Lay,
From thy bright Throne beyond yon Height
Spread Plains of Empyrean Light,
The Spheres assume the second place,
Swift moving thro’ th’ Eternal Space.

Beneath more close compacted lie
The Regions of th’ inferior Sky,
Here float the Clouds, the Thunders roil,
And Tempest whirl from Pole to Pole,
Here thy obedient Spirits find
the Stores of Vengeance for Mankind;
And pleas’d thy Orders to perform
Lance the hot Bolt, or drive the Storm.

Till thou restrain’d it like a Robe
The deep involv’d the shapeless Globe;
And now tho’ the proud Surges rise,
Range the wide wast, and threat the Skies,
Fix’d is their Bound, their Tumults end;
Yet where thou bidst the Main extend,
Awed by thy Voice aloof they roar,
Or gently leave th’uninjured shore.

Mean while the piercing Liquid strains
Thro’ the tall Mountains secret Veins;
Thence down the silver Currents flow
And wander thro’ the Vales below,
And while their Streams fresh Moisture yield
To the dry Cattle of the Field,
Lo, Trees project their Branches fair
And lodge the Songsters of the air.