1 O Lord, in me there lieth naught
But to Thy search revealèd lies;
For when I sit Thou markest it,
No less Thou notest when I rise;
Yea, closest closet of my thought
Hath open windows to Thine eyes.

2 Thou walkest with me when I walk;
When to my bed for rest I go,
I find Thee there, and everywhere;
Not youngest thought in me doth grow,
No, not one word I cast to talk,
But, yet unuttered, Thou dost know.

3 If forth I march, Thou goest before,
If back I turn, Thou com’st behind;
So forth nor back Thy guard I lack;
Nay, on me too Thy hand I find;
Well I Thy wisdom may adore,
But never reach with earthly mind.

4 To shun Thy notice, leave Thine eye,
O whither might I take my way?
To starry sphere? Thy throne is there:
To dead men’s undelightsome stay?
There is Thy walk, and there to lie
Unknown, in vain I should assay.

5 O sun, whom light nor flight can match!
Suppose thy lightful, flightful wings
Thou lend to me, and I could flee
As far as thee the evening brings;
E’en led to west He would me catch,
Nor should I lurk with western things.

6 Do thou thy best, O secret night,
In sable veil to cover me:
Thy sable veil shall vainly fail.
With day unmasked my night shall be:
For night is day, and darkness light,
O Father of all lights, to Thee.