Of the quacks on spoil intent, GOD. Hail thou great mysterious being, How can a mortal sing thy praise, Or speak of all thy wondrous ways, God of the great old solemn woods, And trackless sea. God of the crowded city vast, God of the present and the past, God of the blue vault overhead, Of the green earth on which we tread, Of time and space. God of the worlds which time conceals, God of the worlds which death reveals, To all our race. |