The _God_ that rules on high, That all the earth surveys, That rides upon the stormy sky, And calms the roaring seas-- This awful _God_ is ours, Our Father and our love; He will send down His heavenly powers To carry us above. _Watts._ Spirit whose life-sustaining presence fills Air, ocean, central depths by man untried, Thou for Thy worshippers hast sanctified All place, all time! The silence of the hills Breathes veneration: founts and choral rills Of Thee are murmuring:--to its inmost glade The living forest with Thy whisper thrills, And there is holiness in every shade. _Mrs. Hemans._ On earth there’s not a creature Too small, dear _God_, for Thee: Thou gav’st them form and feature, And Thine they aye must be. For Thee the bird sings, For Thee the fish springs, For Thee the bee hums, The gold-beetle drums, The little mouse pipes clear and fine;-- We all are Thine, dear Lord; but Thine! _Clemens Brentano._ There is no _God_,--the fool in secret said; There is no _God_ that rules on earth or sky; Tear off the band that folds the wretched head, That _God_ may burst upon his faithless eye. Is there no _God_?--the stars in myriads spread, If he look up, the blasphemy deny, Whilst his own features, in the mirror read, Reflect the image of Divinity. Is there no _God_?--the silver stream that flows, The air he breathes, the ground he treads, the trees, The flowers, the grass, the sands, each wind that blows, All speak of _God_; throughout one voice agrees, And eloquent His dread existence shows: Blind to thyself, ah! see Him, fool, in these. _Anon._ My _God_, to Thee belong Incense of praise and hallowed song; To Thee be all the glory given Of all my mercies under heaven; From Thee my daily bread and health, Each comfort, all my spirit’s wealth, Have been derived;--my sins alone, And errings, I can call mine own. _Walker._ What secret hand, at morning light, By stealth unseals mine eye, Draws back the curtain of the night, And opens earth and sky? ’Tis Thine, my _God_--the same that kept My resting hours from harm; No ill came nigh me, for I slept Beneath the Almighty’s arm. ’Tis Thine--my daily bread that brings, Like manna scattered round, And clothes me, as the lily springs In beauty from the ground. _J. Montgomery._