Keep si­lence, all cre­ated things,
And wait your mak­er’s nod:
The muse stands trem­bling while she sings
The hon­ors of her God.

Life, death, and hell, and worlds un­known
Hang on His firm de­cree;
He sits on no pre­car­ious throne,
Nor bor­rows leave to be.

Th’al­migh­ty Voice bid an­cient night
Her end­less realms re­sign,
And lo, ten thou­sand globes of light
In fields of azure shine.

Now wis­dom with su­per­ior sway
Guides the vast mov­ing frame,
Whilst all the ranks of be­ing pay
Deep re­ver­ence to His name.

He spoke; the sun obe­di­ent stood,
And held the fall­ing day:
Old Jor­dan back­ward drives his flood,
And di­sap­points the sea.

Lord of the ar­mies of the sky,
He mar­shals all the stars;
Red co­mets lift their ban­ners high,
And wide pro­claim His wars.

Chained to His throne, a vol­ume lies,
With all the fates of men,
With ev­ery angel’s form and size,
Drawn by th’eter­nal pen.

His pro­vi­dence un­folds the book,
And makes His coun­sels shine;
Each op­en­ing leaf, and ev­ery stroke
Fulfills some deep de­sign.

Here He ex­alts ne­glect­ed worms
To scep­ters and a crown;
And on the fol­low­ing page He turns,
And treads the mon­arch down.

Not Ga­bri­el asks the rea­son why,
Nor God the rea­son gives;
Nor dares the fa­vo­rite angel pry
Between the fold­ed leaves.

My God, I ne­ver longed to see
My fate with cu­ri­ous eyes,
What gloomy lines are writ for me,
Or what bright scenes may rise.

In Thy fair book of life and grace,
O may I find my name
Recorded in some hum­ble place,
Beneath my Lord the Lamb.