Within my tongue there's not one word
But what thou knowest, O my Lord;
And even my secret thought and look
Thou readest like an open book.
Oh, whither could I fly from thee?
Could I but reach the utmost sea,
Thy gracious hand would hold me still,
And lead according to thy will. If I should make my bed in hell,
There would thy Omnipresence dwell;
Yea, hell is naked to thy sight—
The darkness shineth as the light.
When I was curiously wrought,
Thou madest me capable of thought,
That every fiber, every nerve,
Thy noble purposes might serve. My members all were written down;
Yea, every hair that shields my crown
Was numbered when thy plan was laid
That such a being should be made.
Because of sin those hairs may fall,
But at the resurrection call
Each one of them will take its place,
Restored by thy redeeming grace.