Thou Ocean vast, oftimes thy breast, Is calm and still as if at rest, Like one in quiet sleep; But soon in anger thou may’st roar, And madly toss from shore to shore, And human harvest reap.

Fountains and Rivulets so clear, That gush amid the valleys fair, With soft and mellow ring; As coming forth from glade and wood Your babblings whisper “God is good,” Ye make the vales to sing.

Now when all nature swells the song, When beast and birds the strain prolong, Shall man from praise refrain? Then would the rocks and hills proclaim, All nature crying out for shame, They who their Maker’s image wear, Should shout and sing till rent the air With rhapsodies sublime.