Great form­er of this var­ious frame,
Our souls ad­ore Thine aw­ful name;
And bow and trem­ble while they praise
The An­cient of eter­nal days.

Thou, Lord, with un­sur­prised sur­vey,
Sawest na­ture ris­ing yes­ter­day;
And, as to­mor­row, shall Thine eye
See earth and stars in ru­in lie.

Beyond an an­gel’s vi­sion bright,
Thou dwell’st in self-ex­ist­ent light;
Which shines, with un­dim­in­ished ray,
While suns and worlds in smoke de­cay.

Our days a tran­si­ent pe­ri­od run,
And change with eve­ry circ­ling sun;
And, in the firm­est state we boast,
A moth can crush us in­to dust.

But let the crea­tures fall around;
Let death con­sign us to the ground;
Let the last gen­er­al flame arise,
And melt the arch­es of the skies:

Calm as the sum­mer’s ocean, we
Can all the wreck of na­ture see,
While grace se­cures us an ab­ode,
Unshaken as the throne of God.