Thou, Lord, who raised’st Heav’n and Earth,
    Dost make thy Building stand;
The Weight thereof doth wholly rest
    On thine almighty Hand.
Should'st thou withdraw thy Hand of Might,
    The Earth would quit its Place;
The shining Heav'n would vanish straight 
    Into mere empty Space.

For as that Liquor's Scent remains
    Which first the Cask did fill;
So Feeble Creatures hold the Scent
    Of their First Nothing still:
Lord, what is Man, that Child of Pride,
    That boasts his High Degree?
If one poor moment he be left,
    He sinks, and where is he?

In Thee I live, and move, and am;
    Thou deal'st me out my Days;
As thou renew'st my Being, Lord,
    Let me renew thy Praise.
From thee I am, through thee I am,
    And for thee I must be ;
'Tis better for me not to live,
    Than not to live to Thee.

My God, thou art my Glorious Sun,
    By whose bright Beams I shine;
As thou, Lord, ever art with me,
    Let me be ever thine.
Thou art my Living Fountain, Lord, 
    Whose Streams on me do flow;
My self I render unto thee, 
    To whom my self I owe.

As then, Lord, an Immortal soul
    Hast breatherd into me;
So let my Soul be breathing forth
    Immortal thanks to Thee.

Thy Blessing, Lord, doth multiply
    One Jacob to Two Bands,
One Person to a Family,
    Which thro' thy Blessing stands.
On all my Flocks both great and small
    Thy Sun doth sweetly shine;
Thy fruitful Drops do gently fall
    On every Branch of mine.

Thy Blessing made the Loaves to grow,
    And Multitudes were fed;
My House is fill'd and feasted too,
    It is an House of Bread.
How can I hear my Children sing,
    And not sing unto thee?
Since they glad News from Heav'n do bring,
    My God must hear from me.

Mine Olive-Branches and my Vine
    Thrive by my Table's side,
Whilst others wither and decline,
    Who in Death's Shade abide.
With Cov'nant-Blood my Posts are Red;
    'Tis on my Lintle found;
And Lo! The Line of Scarlet Thread
    Is on my Window bound.

'Tis not, my God, my self alone,
    But mine, to thee I owe;
Thou mad'st me many out of one,
    So let thy Praises grow.
Whatever, Lord, is done to thine,
    Thou count'st it done to thee:
And whatsoever's done to mine,
    I count it done to me.

Let me be ever good to thine,
    Who art so good to me!
Let thine be mine, and mine be thine,
    And they twice mine shall be:
Then shall my House a Temple be,
    Then I and mine shall sing
Hosanna's to thy Majesty,
    And praise our Heavenly King.