[1 Can Creatures to Perfection find
Th' Eternal uncreated Mind?
Or can the largest Stretch of Thought
Measure and search his Nature out?

2 'Tis high as Heav'n, 'tis deep as Hell
And what can Mortals know or tell?
His Glory spreads beyond the Sky,
And all the shining Worlds on high.

3 But Man, vain Man, would fain be wise;
Born, like a wild young Colt, he flies
Through all the Follies of his Mind,
And smells, and snuffs the empty Wind.]

4 God is a King of Pow'r unknown,
Firm are the Orders of his Throne;
If He resolve, who dares oppose,
Or ask him why or what he does?

5 He wounds the Heart, and he makes whole;
He calms the Tempest of the Soul;
When He shuts up in long Despair,
Who can remove the heavy Bar?

6 He frowns, and Darkness veils the Moon,
The fainting Sun grows dim at Noon;
The Pillars of Heav'n's starry Roof
Tremble and start at his Reproof.

7 He gave the vaulted Heav'n its Form,
The crooked Serpent and the Worm;
He breaks the Billows with his Breath,
And smites the Sons of Pride to Death.

8 These are a Portion of his Ways,
But who shall dare describe his Face?
Who can endure his Light? Or stand
To hear the Thunders of his Hand?