Earth, big with empires, to thy reign Submits, great God, its wide domain; Whate'er this orb's vast bounds confine, By just possession, Lord, is thine: That orb amid the wat'ry waste Thy hands, best Architect, have plac'd, And bid th'unfathomable deep Beneath its firm foundations sleep. Lord, who shall to thy hill ascend? Who suppliant at thine altars bend, There joyful find a sure abode, And own the presence of his God? Whose hands and heart from guilt are free, Who ne'er to idols bow'd the knee, Nor, studious of deceit, would try By oaths to consecrate a lie. On such th'Almighty from above Shall heap the blessings of his love, And, purg'd from sin's transmissive stain, Admit them to his sacred fane. Such only form the chosen choir, Whose feet, with licens'd step, aspire To visit Sion's blest abode; Who seek the face of Jacob's God.