1 Nature with open volume stands, To spread its Maker’s praise abroad; And every labor of His hands Shows something worthy of our God. 2 But in the grace that rescued us His brightest form of glory shines; ‘Tis fairest drawn upon the cross In precious blood and crimson lines. 3 Here His whole name appears complete. Nor wit can guess, nor reason prove, Which of the letters best is writ, The pow’r, the wisdom, or the love. 4 We would forever speak His name In sounds to mortal ears unknown, With angels join to praise the Lamb, And worship at His Father’s throne.