O Lord! in me there lieth naught
But to thy search revealed lies;
For when I sit,
Thou markest it,
No less Thou notest when I rise;
Yea, closest closet of my thought
Hath open windows to thine eyes.
Thou walkest with me when I walk;
When to my bed for rest I go
I find Thee there,
And everywhere;
Not youngest thought in me doth grow,
No, not one word I cast to talk,
But yet unuttered Thou dost know.
To shun thy notice, leave thine eye,
O, whither might I take my way?
To starry sphere?
Thy throne is there.
To dead men's undelightsome stay?
There is thy walk, and there to lie
Unknown, in vain I should essay.
O sun, whom light nor flight can match,
Suppose thy lightful, flightful wings
Thou lend to me,
And I could flee
As far as thee the evening brings;
Even led to west, He would me catch,
Nor should I lurk with western things.
Do thou thy best, O secret night,
In sable veil to cover me;
The sable veil
Shall vainly fail;
With day unmasked my night shall be:
For night is day, and darkness light,
O Father of all lights, to Thee.