Psalm 8
O Lord, that rul'st the human heart,
How excellent thy name and art,
In all the world renown'd!
The glorious pillars of thy reign
No flight can reach, nor heav'ns contain,
Nor exaltation bound!
The very babes and sucklings cry,
Almighty Father, God most high!
Whom blasphemy profanes—
Thou hear'st and tak'st them by the hand,
Nor can the silenc'd fiend withstand
The strength that Christ ordains.
I will my soaring thoughts exalt
To yonder heaven's cerulean vault,
Whose height thy fingers form'd;
The moon attended at thy call,
Made marvelously fair, and all
The stars around her swarm'd!
Lord what is man, that he should find
A place in his Creator's mind
Or what his whole increase—
A race of rebels vain and weak,
That he should for a moment break
Upon his Saviour's peace?
An angel quite thou mad'st him not,
A little lower is his lot,
On earth thou set'st him down;
There his dominion and degree,
To glorify and worship thee
For glory and a crown
Him thou deputed to review
The scenes of nature, and subdue
Thy creatures to his will;
Whose motley numbers own his sway,
And by his strength compell'd obey,
Or disciplin'd by skill.
All flocks of sheep and droves of kine,
Which as his olive and his vine,
To man their goodness yield;
And not a beast that can be nam'd,
But may be taken or be tam'd
In woodland or in field.
In air, in ocean he controuls,
The feather'd millions, finny shoals,
From minnows to the whale;
Whate'er beneath the waters creep,
Or glide within the yielding deep,
Or on the surface sail.
O thou that rul'st the human heart,
Supreme of nature and of art,
How is thy name renown'd!
How blest thy providential care,
In heav'n above, in earth and air,
And in the vast profound!
How excellent thy name and art,
In all the world renown'd!
The glorious pillars of thy reign
No flight can reach, nor heav'ns contain,
Nor exaltation bound!
The very babes and sucklings cry,
Almighty Father, God most high!
Whom blasphemy profanes—
Thou hear'st and tak'st them by the hand,
Nor can the silenc'd fiend withstand
The strength that Christ ordains.
I will my soaring thoughts exalt
To yonder heaven's cerulean vault,
Whose height thy fingers form'd;
The moon attended at thy call,
Made marvelously fair, and all
The stars around her swarm'd!
Lord what is man, that he should find
A place in his Creator's mind
Or what his whole increase—
A race of rebels vain and weak,
That he should for a moment break
Upon his Saviour's peace?
An angel quite thou mad'st him not,
A little lower is his lot,
On earth thou set'st him down;
There his dominion and degree,
To glorify and worship thee
For glory and a crown
Him thou deputed to review
The scenes of nature, and subdue
Thy creatures to his will;
Whose motley numbers own his sway,
And by his strength compell'd obey,
Or disciplin'd by skill.
All flocks of sheep and droves of kine,
Which as his olive and his vine,
To man their goodness yield;
And not a beast that can be nam'd,
But may be taken or be tam'd
In woodland or in field.
In air, in ocean he controuls,
The feather'd millions, finny shoals,
From minnows to the whale;
Whate'er beneath the waters creep,
Or glide within the yielding deep,
Or on the surface sail.
O thou that rul'st the human heart,
Supreme of nature and of art,
How is thy name renown'd!
How blest thy providential care,
In heav'n above, in earth and air,
And in the vast profound!
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.