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,