Great Maker of unnumbered worlds,

And whom unnumbered worlds adore,

Whose goodness all thy creatures share,

While nature trembles at thy power,—

2 Thine is the hand that moves the spheres,

That wakes the wind, and lifts the sea;

And man who moves, the lord of earth,

Acts but the part assigned by thee.

3 While suppliant crowds implore thy aid,

To thee we raise the humble cry;

Thy altar is the contrite heart,

Thy incense, the repentant sigh.

4 O may our land, in this her hour,

Confess thy hand and bless the rod,

By penitence make thee her Friend,

And find in thee a guardian God.