1 Come, O my soul, in sacred lays,
Attempt thy great Creator's praise;
But O what tongue can speak his fame!
What mortal verse declare his name!

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 Raised on devotion's lofty wing,
Do thou, my soul, his glories sing;
And let his praise employ thy tongue
Till list'ning worlds shall join the song.