How shall I sing of Him who dwells on high, —
The mighty Ruler of the starry sky,
Who binds Orion's belt and yokes the Wain
Septentrion, that ploughs the northern main,
Who is the Life of every living thing, —
How shall I sing? How shall I sing?
I need not tell His glory to the stars,
They know Him well, He guides their glittering cars;
Nor need l breathe His name to fern or flower,
He gives their sweetness every golden hour;
His praise is proved by every blade and bell,—
They know Him well, they love Him well.
I'll tell my tale to every broken heart
That waits and weeps alone, aside, apart;
Hushed are the harps of song, blind lead the blind,
And madness raves upon the roaring wind;
Men tread the same sad path their fathers trod,
Who knew not God: they know not God.
