All space is holy, for all space Is filled by thee; but human thought Burns clearer in some chosen place, 3. Here be they taught; and may we know That faith thy servants knew of old, Which onward bears, through weal and woe, Till death the gates of heaven unfold! 4. Nor we alone may those whose brow Shows yet no trace of human cares, Hereafter stand where we do now, Where thine own words of love are taught. And raise to thee still holier prayers! ANDREWS NORTON, 1786-1853. O tell of his might, O sing of his grace, 3. Thy bountiful care what tongue can recite? It breathes in the air, it shines in the light, It streams from the hills, it descends to the plain, 4. Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail, In thee do we trust, nor find thee to fail. ROBERT GRANT, 1785-198 |