THE EIGHTH PSALM.
Oh Lord our Lord,—how great thy name!
Whose praise both heaven and earth proclaim!
Even babes with unaccustom'd tongue
And infant lips in knowledge young,
Pour forth the sweet, accordant song,
And put to shame the impious throng.—
—When on yon vaulted heavens I look,
That proudest page in nature's book,
Where the fair moon her course doth hold
And stars shoot forth in beamy gold,
Lord what is man!—that from above
Thou deign'st to visit him with love,
And kindly place him just below
Those angel-guards that round thee glow.—
—Thou giv'st him power to rule the train
That glide within the secret main,
And those that spread the sounding wing,
And mid the fields of ether sing,
And those who roam the varied earth
Of gentle kind, or savage birth.
—Yet what is he, frail child of clay?—
Who boasts o'er fleeting earth the sway,
Himself the being of a day,
Compared Oh God of Hosts, to thee,
Great Ruler of Immensity!