[Begin, my tongue, some heav'nly theme,

And speak some boundless thing;

The mighty works, or mightier name,

Of our eternal King.

Tell of his wondrous faithfulness,

And sound his power abroad;

Sing the sweet promise of his grace,

And the performing God.

Proclaim "salvation from the Lord

For wretched, dying men;"

His hand has writ the sacred word

With an immortal pen.

Engraved as in eternal brass

The mighty promise shines;

Nor can the powers of darkness 'rase

Those everlasting lines.]

[He that can dash whole worlds to death,

And make them when he please,

He speaks, and that almighty breath

Fulfils his great decrees.

His very word of grace is strong

As that which built the skies,

The voice that rolls the stars along

Speaks all the promises.

He said, "Let the wide heav'n be spread,"

And heav'n was stretched abroad:

"Abram, I'll be thy God," he said,

And he was Abram's God.

O might I hear thine heav'nly tongue

But whisper, "Thou art mine!"

Those gentle words should raise my song

To notes almost divine.

How would my leaping heart rejoice,

And think my heav'n secure!

I trust the all-creating voice,

And faith desires no more.]