1 In vain I trace creation o'er
In search of solid rest:
The whole creation is too poor,
Too mean to make me blest.

2 Let earth and all her charms depart,
Unworthy of the mind;
In God alone this restless heart
Enduring bliss can find.

3 Thy favor, Lord, is all I want;
Here would my spirit rest:
Oh seal the rich, the boundless grant,
And make me fully blest!