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P. Skelton


To GOD, ye choir above, begin

A hymn so loud and strong

That all the universe may hear

And join the grateful song.


Praise Him, thou sun, Who dwells unseen

Amidst transcendent light,

Where thy refulgent orb would seem

A spot, as dark as night.

Thou silver moon, ye host of stars,

The universal song

Through the serene and silent night

To listening worlds prolong.

Sing Him, ye distant worlds and suns,

From whence no travelling ray

Hath yet to us, through ages past,

Had time to make its way.

Assist, ye raging storms, and bear

On rapid wings His praise,

From north to south, from east to west,

Through heaven, and earth, and seas.

Exert your voice, ye furious fires

That rend the watery cloud,

And thunder to this nether world

Your Maker's words aloud.

Ye works of GOD, that dwell unknown

Beneath the rolling main;

Ye birds, that sing among the groves,

And sweep the azure plain;

Ye stately hills, that rear your heads,

And towering pierce the sky;

Ye clouds, that with an awful pace

Majestic roll on high;

Ye insects small, to which one leaf

Within its narrow sides

A vast extended world displays,

And spacious realms provides;

Ye race, still less than these, with which

The stagnant water teems,

To which one drop, however small,

A boundless ocean seems;

--Whate'er ye are, where'er ye dwell,

Ye creatures great or small,

Adore the Wisdom, praise the Power,

That made and governs all.

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