Turn where ye may, from the sky to the sod,

Where can ye gaze that ye see not God.

Eliza Cook.

Soul of the world, All-seeing Eye,

Where, where shall man Thy presence fly?

Say, would he climb the starry height?

All Heaven is instinct with Thy Light:—

Dwell in the darkness of the grave?

Yea, Thou art there to judge and save.

In vain on wings of morn we soar,