My God, my portion, and my love,
My everlasting all,
I’ve none but Thee in heav’n above,
Or on this earthly ball.

What empty things are all the skies,
And this inferior clod!
There’s nothing here deserves my joys,
There’s nothing like my God.

In vain the bright, the burning sun,
Scatters his feeble light;
‘Tis Thy sweet beams create my noon,
If Thou withdraw ’tis night.

Recordings 1