Classic Poem

Tremendous Author of our frame,
Holy and rev'rend is thy name
Where in the ranks of Being round
Can, mighty God, thy peer be found?

High Lord of life and King of death,
Worlds rise and vanish at thy breath.
Thou humblest thy majestic sight,
To view a Seraph and a mite.

The nations, in thy losty eye,
Are nothing, less than vanity.
Who against thee shall lift his hand?
Against thy terrors who can stand?

But, O how blest, most gracious Lord,
The souls that tremble at thy word;
Thy anger to inflame afraid,
In noon-day beam and midnight shade;

The souls, whom rev'rence of thy will
Keeps from the bounding line of ill.
With such thy dwelling is; on those
Thy peace its filling joys bestows.

Thy wisdom guides, thy pow'r defends
Their life, till life its journey ends:
Death shall convey them to the land
Where all thy saints before thee stand.

O that my soul with awful sense
Of thy transcendent excellence,
May close the day, the day begin;
Jeàlous of every budding sin.

Never, O never, from my heart
May this great principle depart:
But act with unrelaxing pow'r
Within me, to my mortal hour.