Scripture Verse

O Lord, how great are Thy works! Psalm 92:5


John Q. Adams (1767–1848)

Words: John Q. Ad­ams (1767–1848).

Music: Ham­burg Lo­well Ma­son, 1824 (🔊 pdf nwc). First pub­lished in The Bos­ton Han­del and Hay­dn So­cie­ty Col­lect­ion of Church Mu­sic, third edi­tion, 1825.

If you know when this hymn was writ­ten,

Lowell Mason (1792–1872)


O Lord my God! how great art Thou!
With hon­or and with glo­ry crowned;
Light’s dazz­ling splen­dors veil Thy brow,
And gird the uni­verse around.

Spirits and an­gels Thou hast made;
Thy min­is­ters a flam­ing fire;
By Thee were earth’s foun­da­tions laid;
At Thy re­buke the floods re­tire.

Thine are the fount­ains of the deep;
By Thee their wa­ters swell or fail;
Up to the mount­ain’s sum­mit creep,
Or shrink be­neath the low­ly vale.

Thy fin­gers mark their ut­most found;
That bound the wa­ters may not pass;
Their mois­ture swells the teem­ing ground,
And paints the va­lleys o’er with grass.

The wav­ing har­vest, Lord, is Thine;
The vine­yard, and the ol­ive’s juice;
Corn, wine, and oil, by Thee com­bine,
Life, glad­ness, beau­ty, pro­duce.

The moon for sea­sons Thou hast made,
The sun for change of day and night;
Of dark­ness Thine the deep­est shade,
And Thine the day’s me­ri­di­an light.

O Lord, Thy works are all di­vine;
In wis­dom hast Thou made them all;
Earth’s teem­ing mul­ti­tudes are Thine;
Thine—peo­pled oceans great and small.

All these on Thee for life de­pend;
Thy Spir­it speaks, and they are born;
They ga­ther what Thy boun­ties send;
Thy hand of plen­ty fills the horn.

Thy face is hid­den—they turn pale,
With ter­ror quake, with ang­uish burn;
Their breath Thou giv­est to the gale;
They die, and to their dust re­turn.

And Thou, my soul, with pure de­light,
Thy voice to bless thy mak­er raise;
His praise let morn­ing sing to night,
And night to morn re­peat His praise.