1 My God! all nature owns Thy sway;
Thou giv'st the night and Thou the day:
When all Thy loved creation wakes,
When morning, rich in lustre, breaks,
And bathes in dew the opening flower,
To Thee we owe her fragrant hour;
And when she pours her choral song,
Her melodies to Thee belong.
2 Or when, in paler tints arrayed,
The evening slowly spreads her shade,
That soothing shade, that grateful gloom,
Can, more than day's enlivening bloom,
Still every fond and vain desire,
And calmer, purer thoughts inspire;
From earth the longing spirit free,
And lead the softened heart to Thee.
3 As o'er Thy work the seasons roll,
And soothe, with change of bliss, the soul,
O, never may their smiling train
Pass o'er the human sense in vain!
But, oft as on their charms we gaze,
Attune the wondering soul to praise;
And be the joys that most we prize
The joys that from Thy favor rise!