William Billings - When I with pleasing wonder stand - текст песни (слова)

When I with pleasing wonder stand, 
 And all my frame survey, 
 Lord, 'tis thy work; I own thy hand
 Thus built my humble clay.
 Our life contains a thousand springs,
 And dies if one be gone.
 Strange that a harp of thousand strings
 Should keep in tune so long.