All existence Thou containest In Thee, quick’nest with Thy breath; End to the beginning chainest; And Thou givest life through death. Life as sparks spring from the fire, Suns are born from Thee, great sire: As, in cold clear wintry day, Spangles of the frost shine, sparkling, Turning, wavering, glittering, darkling, Shine the stars beneath Thy ray. All the million lights, that wander Silent through immensity, Thy behests fulfil, and squander Living rays throughout the sky. But those lamps of living fire, Crystals soaring ever higher, Golden waves in rich array, Wondrous orbs of burning ether, Or bright worlds that cling together, Are to Thee as night to day. Like a drop in sea before Thee Is the firmament on high: What’s the universe of glory, And before Thee what am I? In yon vast aërial ocean Could I count those worlds in motion, Adding millions to them--aught I could fancy or decipher, By Thy side is but a cipher; And before Thee I am--naught! Naught! And yet in me Thou rayest, By Thy gift and through Thy Son: In me Thou Thyself portrayest, As in one small drop the sun. Naught! Yet life I feel throughout me, And, content with naught about me, Upward fly with eager heart. That Thou art, my soul supposes, Tries, and with this reas’ning closes: “Sure I am, hence Thou too art.” Yes, Thou art--all nature tells me; Whispers back my heart the thought; Reason now to this impels me: Since Thou art, I am not naught! Part of Thine entire creation, Set in nature’s middle station By Thine order I abide; Where Thou endest forms terrestrial And beginnest souls celestial, Chains of beings by me tied. I’m the link of worlds existing, Last high grade of matter I, Centre of all life subsisting, First touch of divinity. Death to dust my body sunders: In my mind I wield the thunders. I’m a king, a slave to Thee: I’m a worm, a god! Whence hither Came I, wonderful? Oh, whither? By myself I could not be. Thine am I, Thou great Creator, Outcome of Thy wisdom sole; Fount of life, blest conservator; Of my soul the king and soul! Needful to Thy just decreeing Was it that my deathless being Pass to Thee through death’s abyss: That my soul, in body vested, Wend, by death refined and tested, Father, to Thy deathlessness. Traceless One, unfathomable! Now I cannot see Thy face: My imagining’s too feeble E’en Thy shadow here to trace; But, if we must sing Thy glory, Feeble mortals, to adore Thee In a worthy attitude, We must rise to Thee to wreathe Thee, Lost in distance far beneath Thee, And--shed tears of gratitude.