What empty things are all the skies, And this inferior clod!
There's nothing here deserves my joys, There's nothing like my God.

How vain a toy is glitt'ring wealth, If once compared to Thee;
Or what's my safety, or my health, Or all my friends to me?

Were I possessor of the earth, And called the stars my own,
Without Thy graces and Thyself, I were a wretch undone.

Let others stretch their arms like seas, And grasp in all the shore;
Grant me the visits of Thy face, And I desire no more.