1 My God! all nature owns Thy sway;
Thou giv’st the night and Thou the day:
When all Thy loved creation wakes,
When morning, rich in lustre, breaks,
And bathes in dew the opening flower,
To Thee we owe her fragrant hour;
And when she pours her choral song,
Her melodies to Thee belong.
2 Or when, in paler tints arrayed,
The evening slowly spreads her shade,