The Book

Eternal God!

Maker of

That have lived here since the man's fall:

The Rock of Ages! in whose

They live unseen, when here they fade;

Thou knew'st this paper when it was Mere seed, and after that but grass;

Before 'twas dressed or spun, and

Made linen, who did wear it then:

What were their lives, their thoughts, and deeds,

Whether good corn or fruitless weeds.

Thou knew'st this tree when a green

Covered it, since a cover made,

And where it flourished, grew, and spread,

As if it never should be dead.

Thou knew'st this harmless beast when

Did live and feed by Thy

On each green thing; then slept — well fed — Clothed with this skin which now lies spreadA covering o'er this aged book;

Which makes me wisely weep, and

On my own dust; mere dust it is,

But not so dry and clean as this.

Thou knew'st and saw'st them all, and

Now scattered thus, dost know them so.

O knowing, glorious Spirit!

Thou shalt restore trees, beasts, and men,

When Thou shalt make all new again,

Destroying only death and pain,

Give him amongst Thy works a

Who in them loved and sought Thy face!