1 Nature with open volume stands,
To spread its maker's praise abroad;
And ev'ry labor of his hands
Shows something worthy of our God.

2 But in the grace that rescued us
His brightest form of glory shines;
'Tis fairest drawn upon the cross
In precious blood and crimson lines.

3 Here his whole name appears complete.
Nor wit can guess, nor reason prove,
Which of the letters best is writ,
The pow'r, the wisdom, or the love.

4 We would forever speak his name
In sounds to mortal ears unknown,
With angels join to praise the Lamb,
And worship at his Father's throne.