Great Framer of Unnumbered Worlds

Great fram­er of un­num­bered worlds

And whom un­numbered worlds ad­ore!

Thy good­ness all Thy crea­tures share

While na­ture trem­bles at Thy pow­er.

While sup­pli­ant crowds im­plore Thine aid

To Thee we raise the hum­ble cry:

Thine al­tar is the con­trite heart

Thine in­cense a re­pent­ant sigh.

But if in­jus­tice grind the poor

Or ava­rice stain the sor­did hand

Or stern am­bi­tion thirst for blood

Or rude op­press­ion waste the land:

The God

who hears the or­phan’s cry

The mar­tyr’s pray­er

and pri­son­er’s groan

Still list­en­ing to the poor op­pressed

Would spurn th’op­press­or from his throne.

Yet though enor­mous crimes abound

Should but a gen­ui­ne sor­row rise;

And

as new trou­bles threat­en round

’Midst wast­ing wars and an­gry skies.

Should

in her so­ber hour

our land

Confess Thy hand and bless the rod:

Thou still wouldst love to be her friend

Who loved to own Thee as her God.