Mather Byles (1706–1788)

GREAT God thy works our wonder raise;

To thee our swelling notes belong;

While skies and winds, and rocks and seas,

Around shall echo to our song.

Thy power produced this mighty frame,

Aloud to thee the tempests roar,

Or softer breezes tune thy name

Gently along the shelly shore.

Round thee the scaly nation roves,

Thy opening hands their joys bestow,

Through all the blushing coral groves,

These silent gay retreats below.

See the broad sun forsake the skies,

Glow on the waves and downward glide,

Anon heaven opens all its eyes,

And star-beams tremble o’er the tide.

Each various scene, or day or night,

Lord! points to thee our nourish’d soul;

Thy glories fix our whole delight;

So the touch’d needle courts the pole.