I.

Where, what, or who, art thou great GOD ,
Whom I profess to own?
Thy works, thy self, and thine abode,
Most known, and most unknown.

II.

If worlds unnumber'd as the sand
Are search'd to find thee there,
They're but small traces of some hand
Their Maker to declare.

III.

Ask angels where this GOD doth dwell
(Tho' wrap'd in him) would say,
" Tis not all our climes to tell
" But just some feeble ray. "

IV.

Not found by mortal hand or eye;
In empty space not found;
Not time nor yet eternity
Can reach his utmost bound.

V.

Should I attempt to find him out
By philosophic strains,
Still far beyond the reach of thought
Unknown to me he reigns.

VI.

Angelic realms before his eye,
Tho' countless they may be,
So much like nothing all would lie
Too small for him to see.

VII.

Yet nothing doth in being dwell,
Small or conceal'd they lie
In heav'n, or earth, or sea, or hell,
But's naked to his eye.

VIII.

Immense he is, and leaves no void,
All nature's in his hand;
A million worlds made or destroy'd
Are as the smallest sand.

IX.

Good GOD ! and yet within thy hand
A guilty mote I rove;
I live, I move, and guarded, stand
Partaker of thy love.

X.

The smallest insects that are made
Notic'd and guarded be;
And hairs of my unworthy head
All number'd Lord by thee.

XI.

O give me then a humble place,
Inspir'd with sacred flame;
A large partaker of thy grace
To sound thy boundless fame.