Ere God had built the mountains,
Or raised the fruitful hills;
Before He filled the fountains
That feed the running rills;
In Thee, from everlasting,
The wonderful I AM
Found pleasures never wasting,
And Wisdom is Thy name.

When like a tent to dwell in,
He spread the skies abroad,
And swathed about the swelling
Of ocean’s mighty flood,
He wrought by weight and measure;
And Thou wast with Him then_
Thyself the Father’s pleasure,
And Thine the sons of men.

And couldst Thou be delighted
With creatures such as we,
Who, when we saw Thee, slighted
And nailed Thee to a tree?
Unfathomable wonder!
And mystery divine!
The voice that speaks in thunder
Says, "Sinner, I am thine!"