Lord, all I am is known to Thee:
In vain my soul would try
To shun Thy pre­sence, or to flee
The no­tice of Thine eye.

Thy all sur­round­ing sight sur­veys
My ris­ing and my rest,
My pub­lic walks, my pri­vate ways,
The sec­rets of my breast.

My thoughts lie op­en to Thee, Lord,
Before they’re formed with­in;
And ere my lips pro­nounce the word,
Thou know­est the sense I mean.

O won­drous know­ledge! deep and high:
Where can a crea­ture hide?
Within Thy circ­ling arms I lie,
Beset on ev­ery side.

So let Thy grace sur­round me still,
And like a bul­wark prove,
To guard my soul from ev­ery ill,
Secured by so­ver­eign love.