With what delight, great God, I trace Each act of Thy stupendous grace! Great are the works Thy hand has wrought, And deep beyond all search Thy thought. Thy acts the minds of brutish mold With unregarding eye behold, And, strangers to Thy wise design, In erring censure madly join: Nor know, that, when the impious band, Fresh as the flower, conspicuous stand, Mature for death their heads they rear, And swift destruction waits them near. But Thou above the starry plain In endless majesty shalt reign; And downward from th’ethereal height O’er subject worlds extend Thy might.