There Are a Myriad Means, O Lord

There are a my­ri­ad means

O Lord

By which we hear and see

The ec­ho of Thy liv­ing word

The sha­dow thrown by Thee;

Thy glo­ry is be­yond the pow­ers

Of any in­stru­ment of ours.

The bound­less wind is all Thy breadth

And ev­ery stream a vein;

Time is the heart that beats be­neath

The or­gan of Thy brain

Which is th’un­bound vast of space

And ev­ery op­en flow­er Thy face.

The world’s arch­es heav’n­ward fly

From pil­lars of the air;

Behold now in the east­ern sky

The great rose win­dow flare

As day re­veals be­neath the dome

The old fa­mil­iar streets of home.

We have the pow­er to make or mar

This he­ritage and home;

Lord

look not on us as we are

But as we shall be­come

When we have made on Earth com­plete

Thy king­dom where all king­doms meet.

To Thee

O young and prince­ly Heart

All liv­ing things re­turn;

We love not them and Thee apart

For through that love we learn

In them to feel and hear and see

The ra­di­ant cer­tain­ty of Thee.