« PreviousContinue »
EYOND, beyond that boundless sea,
Thy dwelling is on high:
We hear thy voice when thunders roll
The waves obey thy dread control,
But still thou art not there: Where shall I find him, O my soul, Who yet is everywhere?
O, not in circling depth nor height,
Present to faith, though veiled from sight,
There doth his spirit rest.
O, come, thou Presence infinite,
And make thy creature blest.
JOSIAH CONDER, 1789-1855.