A thinking stool molds careless into dim light room,
It's thinking is not in the wood nor underneath,
Besides the creaking frame but in the flesh that sits,
Above and in the mind behind such wearied eyes,
The burning thoughts that flicker truer than the flames,
That descend from truest light a fearful craft,
A wonderful thing to search out all glories and
Give praise and adoration in an outpouring metre,
So wonderful Your works my Lord and God come friend,
So beautiful the hands that made the ornate jewels,
The crystal figures splendid - precious thinkers of
Their own become a crown of glory for the King
Of Kings who loves their souls indeed to pay in blood.

Even darkness is as light to Him,
And shaded creeks like open sea,
Transcendent to the highest place,
And still He sits enthroned to see...
Adopted sons and daughters run,
Through darkest shade and blazing rays,
For darkness is as light to Him,
And He knows our days.