There seems a voice in every gale,

A tongue in every opening flower,

Which tells, O Lord! the wondrous tale

Of thy indulgence, love, and power.

2 The birds that rise on soaring wing

Appear to hymn their Maker’s praise,

And all the mingling sounds of spring

To thee a general paean raise.

3 And shall my voice, great God, alone

Be mute ’midst nature’s loud acclaim?

No; let my heart with answering tone

Breathe forth in praise thy holy name.

4 And nature’s debt is small to mine;

Thou bad’st her being bounded be,

But—matchless proof of love divine—

Thou gav’st immortal life to me.