Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903.
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| THESE 1 are Thy glorious works, Parent of good, | |
| Almighty, Thine this universal frame, | |
| Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then! | |
| Unspeakable, who sitt’st above these heavens | |
| To us invisible, or dimly seen | 5 |
| In these Thy lowest works; yet these declare | |
| Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. | |
| Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, | |
| Angels; for ye behold Him, and with songs | |
| And choral symphonies, day without night, | 10 |
| Circle His throne rejoicing; ye in Heaven. | |
| On Earth join, all ye creatures, to extol | |
| Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end. | |
| Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, | |
| If better thou belong not to the dawn, | 15 |
| Sure pledge of day, that crown’st the smiling morn | |
| With thy bright circlet, praise Him in thy sphere, | |
| While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. | |
| Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul, | |
| Acknowledge Him thy greater; sound His praise | 20 |
| In thy eternal course, both when thou climb’st, | |
| And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall’st. | |
| Moon, that now meet’st the orient sun, now fli’st | |
| With the fixed Stars, fixed in their orb that flies; | |
| And ye five other wandering Fires, that move | 25 |
| In mystic dance not without song, resound | |
| His praise, who out of darkness called up light. | |
| Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth | |
| Of Nature’s womb, that in quaternion run | |
| Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix | 30 |
| And nourish all things, let your ceaseless change | |
| Vary to our great Maker still new praise. | |
| Ye Mists and Exhalations, that now rise | |
| From hill or steaming lake, dusky or grey, | |
| Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, | 35 |
| In honour to the world’s great Author rise; | |
| Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured sky, | |
| Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, | |
| Rising or falling still advance His praise. | |
| His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow, | 40 |
| Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye Pines, | |
| With every plant, in sign of worship wave. | |
| Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, | |
| Melodious murmurs, warbling tune His praise. | |
| Join voices, all ye living Souls. Ye Birds, | 45 |
| That singing up to heaven-gate ascend, | |
| Bear on your wings and in your notes His praise. | |
| Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk | |
| The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep; | |
| Witness if I be silent, morn or even, | 50 |
| To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade, | |
| Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise. | |
| Hail, universal Lord, be bounteous still | |
| To give us only good; and if the night | |
| Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed, | 55 |
| Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark! | |
