Ye works of God! on him alone,
His footstool earth, high heav’n his throne,
Be all your praise bestowed.
His hand the beauteous fabric made,
His eye the finish’d work survey’d,
And saw that all was good.

Ye sons of men! his praise display,
Who stamp’d his image on your clay,
And gave it pow’r to move.
Where’er ye go, where’er ye dwell,
From age to age successive tell
The wonders of his love.

Ye spirits of the just and good!
Who, panting for that blest abode,
To heaven’s bright mansions soar:
O let your songs his praise display,
Till nature’s self shall waste away;
And time shall be no more.

Praise him, ye meek and humble train!
Who shall those heav’nly joys obtain,
Prapar’d for souls sincere.
Now praise him till you take your way
To regions of eternal day,
To dwell for ever there.