Scripture Verse

With whom, then, will you compare God? To what image will you liken Him? As for an idol, a metalworker casts it, and a goldsmith overlays it with gold and fashions silver chains for it. A person too poor to present such an offering selects wood that will not rot; they look for a skilled worker to set up an idol that will not topple. Isaiah 40:18–20


Charles Wesley

Words: Charles Wes­ley, Hymns and Sac­red Po­ems (Bris­tol, Eng­land: Fe­lix Far­ley, 1742), pag­es 5–7.

Music: St. Cris­pin George J. El­vey, 1862 (🔊 pdf nwc).

Alternate Tune:

  • St. John’s High­lands, an­on­y­mous (🔊 pdf nwc)
George J. Elvey


Say then, ye worms of earth, to whom
Will ye your glorious God compare?
Vainly thro’ all His works ye roam,
And find Jehovah’s likeness there.

The vile idolater belies
His image with a golden shrine,
To counterfeit the Godhead tries;
And stocks and stones become divine.

Man his own deity reveres
By self delight, and self esteem,
Whate’er the sinner hopes, or fears
Desires, or loves, is God to him.

But have ye not His being known,
And clearly seen by nature’s light?
Have not the ancient fathers shown,
And you confessed the Infinite?

The heavens His glorious power proclaim,
Th’invisible on earth is showed;
Nature is written with His name,
And all things speak their builder God.

Creation to His law submits,
His rule He over all maintains,
High on the globe of Heaven He sits,
And undisturbed for ever reigns.

Th’inhabitants of earth from thence,
As grasshoppers His eye beholds;
His hand, and power, and providence
The curtain of the heavens unfolds.

’Tis He who stretched them out, ’tis He
Who still the wide pavilion spreads,
That blue ethereal canopy,
And draws it o’er His creatures’ heads.

Princes and kings that dare withstand
Their uncontrolled Creator’s sway,
Shall sink behind His mighty hand,
And fall, and fade, and die away.

Planted awhile, or sown below,
Their stock accursed shall ne’er take root;
The Lord upon their pride shall blow,
Wither the flower, and blast the fruit.

Say then, ye abject worms, to whom
Will ye your glorious God compare?
Who shall His holiness presume
To match, or who His power shall dare?

Lift up your eyes to things on high,
Nor fix on earth your groveling thought;
Who built yon azure vaulted sky?
Who spoke those beauteous orbs from naught?

God only wise, and great, and strong,
Made them to run their heavenly race;
Knowledge and might to God belong,
Honor, and majesty and praise.

Their radiant hosts He marshals right,
Their nature, names and number knows;
He bids them in their courses fight,
And blast their great Creator’s foes.

They hear, and each His will performs,
And lo! to man they ever call,
Lift up your eyes, ye abject worms,
Adore the glorious Cause of All!