The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. Containing, besides his Sermons, and Essays on miscellaneous subjects, several additional pieces, Selected from his Manuscripts by the Rev. Dr. Jennings, and the Rev. Dr. Doddridge, in 1753: to which are prefixed, memoirs of the life of the author, compiled by the Rev. George Burder. In six volumes |
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[My God, I love and I adore] |
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 | The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. |  |
510
[My God, I love and I adore]
My God, I love and I adore:
But souls that love would know thee more.
Wilt thou for ever hide, and stand
Behind the labours of thy hand?
Thy hand unseen sustains the poles
On which this huge creation rolls:
The starry arch proclaims thy pow'r,
Thy pencil glows in ev'ry flow'r:
In thousand shapes and colours rise
Thy painted wonders to our eyes;
While beasts and birds with lab'ring throats,
Teach us a God in thousand notes.
The meanest pin in nature's frame,
Marks out some letter of thy name.
Where sense can reach or fancy rove,
From hill to hill, from field to grove,
Across the waves, around the sky,
There's not a spot, or deep, or high,
Where the Creator has not trod,
And left the footstep of a God.
But souls that love would know thee more.
Wilt thou for ever hide, and stand
Behind the labours of thy hand?
Thy hand unseen sustains the poles
On which this huge creation rolls:
The starry arch proclaims thy pow'r,
Thy pencil glows in ev'ry flow'r:
In thousand shapes and colours rise
Thy painted wonders to our eyes;
While beasts and birds with lab'ring throats,
Teach us a God in thousand notes.
The meanest pin in nature's frame,
Marks out some letter of thy name.
Where sense can reach or fancy rove,
From hill to hill, from field to grove,
Across the waves, around the sky,
There's not a spot, or deep, or high,
Where the Creator has not trod,
And left the footstep of a God.
But are his footsteps all that we,
Poor grov'ling worms, must know or see?
Thou Maker of my vital frame,
Unveil thy face, pronounce thy name,
Shine to my sight, and let the ear
Which thou hast form'd, thy language hear.
Where is thy residence? Oh, why
Dost thou avoid my searching eye,
My longing sense? Thou great Unknown,
Say, do the clouds conceal thy throne?
Divide, ye clouds, and let me see
The pow'r that gives me leave to be.
Poor grov'ling worms, must know or see?
Thou Maker of my vital frame,
Unveil thy face, pronounce thy name,
Shine to my sight, and let the ear
Which thou hast form'd, thy language hear.
Where is thy residence? Oh, why
Dost thou avoid my searching eye,
My longing sense? Thou great Unknown,
Say, do the clouds conceal thy throne?
Divide, ye clouds, and let me see
The pow'r that gives me leave to be.
Or art thou all diffus'd abroad
Thro' boundless space, a present God,
Unseen, unheard, yet ever near?
What shall I do to find thee here?
Is there not some mysterious art
To feel thy presence at my heart?
To hear thy whispers soft and kind,
In holy silence of the mind?
Then rest my thoughts; no longer roam
In quest of joy, for heav'n's at home.
Thro' boundless space, a present God,
Unseen, unheard, yet ever near?
What shall I do to find thee here?
Is there not some mysterious art
To feel thy presence at my heart?
To hear thy whispers soft and kind,
In holy silence of the mind?
Then rest my thoughts; no longer roam
In quest of joy, for heav'n's at home.
But, oh, thy beams of warmest love!
Sure they were made for worlds above.
How shall my soul her pow'rs extend,
Beyond where time and nature end,
To reach those heights, thy best abode,
And meet thy kindest smiles, my God?
What shall I do? I wait thy call;
Pronounce the word, my life, my all.
Oh for a wing to bear me far
Beyond the golden morning-star!
Fain would I trace th'immortal way,
That leads to courts of endless day,
Where the Creator stands confess'd,
In his own fairest glories dress'd.
Some shining spirit help me rise,
Come waft a stranger through the skies;
Bless'd Jesus, meet me on the road,
First offspring of th'eternal God,
Thy hand shall lead a younger son,
Clothe me with vestures yet unknown,
And place me near my Father's throne.
Sure they were made for worlds above.
How shall my soul her pow'rs extend,
Beyond where time and nature end,
To reach those heights, thy best abode,
And meet thy kindest smiles, my God?
What shall I do? I wait thy call;
Pronounce the word, my life, my all.
Oh for a wing to bear me far
Beyond the golden morning-star!
Fain would I trace th'immortal way,
That leads to courts of endless day,
Where the Creator stands confess'd,
In his own fairest glories dress'd.
Some shining spirit help me rise,
Come waft a stranger through the skies;
Bless'd Jesus, meet me on the road,
First offspring of th'eternal God,
Thy hand shall lead a younger son,
Clothe me with vestures yet unknown,
And place me near my Father's throne.
| The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. | |