’Tis God, whose all dis­pos­ing sway,
The hea­vens, the earth, the seas, ob­ey;
Whose might through all ex­tent ex­tends,
Sinks through all depths, all height trans­cends.

From earth’s low mar­gin to the skies
Who bids the preg­nant va­pors rise,
The light­ning’s pal­lid sheet ex­pands,
And glads with show­ers the fur­rowed lands.

Now from His store­house built on high,
He gives th’im­pri­soned winds, to fly,
And, guid­ed by His will, to sweep
The sur­face of the foam­ing deep.

By His re­sist­less stroke as­sailed,
Her eld­est born proud Egypt wailed;
Nor raged His sword on man alone;
Her flocks, her herds, its fu­ry own.

New scenes of dread her land sur­prised,
When God the haugh­ty chief chas­tised.
And each who lent th’as­sist­ing hand
To exe­cute his stern com­mand.

From Egypt’s de­so­lat­ed shore
Its course His ven­geance on­ward bore
To dist­ant realms by jus­tice led;
And migh­ti­est kings be­neath it bled.

Thy name shall ev­er live, Thy name
O Lord, shall cease­less hon­or claim;
Thy works, achieved in ag­es past,
To end­less time re­mem­bered last.