Ye Sons Of Men In Sacred Lays

Ye sons of men, in sacred lays,
Attempt the great Creator’s praise;
But who an equal song can frame?
What verse can reach the lofty theme?

He sits enthron’d amidst the spheres,
And glory like a garment wears;
While boundless wisdom, pow’r, and grace,
Command our awe, transcend our praise.

Before his throne a shining band
Of cherubs and of seraphs stand;
Ethereal spirits, who in flight
Outstrip the rapid speed of light.

To God all nature owes its birth,
He form’d this pond’rous globe of earth,
He raised the glorious arch on high,
And measur’d out the azure sky.

In all our Maker’s grand designs,
Omnipotence with wisdom shines.
His works, through all this wondrous frame,
Bear the great impress of his name.

Rais’d on devotion’s lofty wing,
Let us his high perfections sing:
O let his praise employ our tongue,
Whilst list’ning worlds applaud the song!