O wor­ship the King, all glo­ri­ous above,
O grate­ful­ly sing His pow­er and His love;
Our shield and de­fend­er, the An­cient of Days,
Pavilioned in splen­dor, and gird­ed with praise.

O tell of His might, O sing of His grace,
Whose robe is the light, whose ca­no­py space,
His cha­ri­ots of wrath the deep thun­der­clouds form,
And dark is His path on the wings of the storm.

The earth with its store of won­ders un­told,
Almighty, Thy pow­er hath found­ed of old;
Established it fast by a change­less de­cree,
And round it hath cast, like a man­tle, the sea.

Thy boun­ti­ful care, what tongue can re­cite?
It breathes in the air, it shines in the light;
It streams from the hills, it des­cends to the plain,
And sweet­ly dis­tills in the dew and the rain.

Frail child­ren of dust, and fee­ble as frail,
In Thee do we trust, nor find Thee to fail;
Thy mer­cies how ten­der, how firm to the end,
Our mak­er, de­fend­er, re­deem­er, and friend.

O mea­sure­less might! In­ef­fa­ble love!
While an­gels de­light to wor­ship Thee above,
The hum­bler cre­ation, though fee­ble their lays,
With true ado­ra­tion shall all sing Thy praise.