2 The birds that rise on soaring wing
Appear to hymn their Maker’s praise,
And all the mingling sounds of spring
To thee a general paean raise.
3 And shall my voice, great God, alone
Be mute ’midst nature’s loud acclaim?
No; let my heart with answering tone
Breathe forth in praise thy holy name.
4 And nature’s debt is small to mine;
Thou bad’st her being bounded be,