Lord, thou with an unerring beam
Surveyest all my powers;
My rising steps are watched by thee,
By thee, my resting hours.
My thoughts, scarce struggling into birth,
Great God, are known to thee;
Abroad, at home, still I’m enclosed
With thine immensity.
To thee the labyrinths of life
In open view appear;
Nor steals a whisper from my lips
Without thy listening ear.
Behind I glance, and thou art there;
Before me shines thy name;
And ’tis thy strong almighty hand
Sustains my tender frame,
Such knowledge mocks the vain essays
O my astonished mind;
Nor can my reason’s soaring eye
Its towering summit find.
Where from thy Spirit shall I stretch
The pinions of my flight?
Or where, thro’ nature’s spacious range,
Shall I elude thy sight?
Thither thine hand, all-present God,
Must guide the wondrous way,
And thine omnipotence support
The fabric of my clay.
The beams of noon, the midnight hour
Are both alike to thee:
O may I ne’er provoke that power,
From which I cannot flee!
–Thomas Blacklock (1721-1791)