1 Come, O my soul, in sacred lays,
Attempt thy great Creator’s praise:
But Oh! what tongue can speak His fame?
What mortal verse can reach the theme?

2 Enthroned amid the radiant spheres,
He glory, like a garment, wears;
To form a robe of light divine,
Ten thousand suns around Him shine.

3 In all our Maker’s grand designs,
Omnipotence, with wisdom, shines;
His works, thro’ all this wondrous frame,
Declare the glory of His Name.

4 Raised on devotion’s lofty wing,
Do thou, my soul, His glories sing;
And let His praise employ thy tongue,
Till listening worlds shall join the song.