Was it the hand of God lifted the rod?
Oh how hard does it seem, wonderful God!
Mighty and marvellous, we but behold
In wonder and awe Thy mysteries told--
The work of Thy hand
Throughout all the land,
Bearing on mankind--
Man frail and mortal.
Dark and ambiguous, mighty and grand,
All Thy works are;
Thee, whom all the angels adore,
Falling in prostration before
Thy radiant throne.
In beauty of state
The archangels wait,
Seeking Thy glory,
Great God, alone.
How shall we bend,
Seeking to lend
Humble adorance, worship before Thee?
How shall we yield us meekly submissive
Unto Thy will?
So prone is the heart oft to rebel,
Murmuring still;
From morning until night,
And
From darkness until light,
It doth rebel.
Send,
O Lord! the spirit of meekness,
And dispel
All turbulent thought
And vainglory sought.
We are but nought
In the presence of Thy greatness.