1 Praise to God, immortal praise,
For the love that crowns our days:
Bounteous source of ev'ry joy,
let thy praise our tongues employ.
2 All that spring, with bounteous hand,
Scatters o'er the smiling land;
All that lib'ral autumn pours
From her rich o'erflowing stores:
3 These to thee, our God! we owe,
Source whence all our blessings flow!
And for these our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise.
4 Yet should rising whirlwinds tear
From its stem the rip'ning ear;
Should the fig-tree's blasted shoot
Drop her green untimely fruit:
5 Should the vine put forth no more,
Nor the olive yield her store:
Though the sick'ning flocks should fall,
And the herds desert the stall:
6 Should thine alter'd hand restrain
Vernal show'rs and latter rain,
Blast each op'ning bud of joy,
And the rising year destroy:
7 Yet to thee our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise;
And, when ev'ry blessing's flown,
Love theeāfor thyself alone!
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Praise to God, immortal praise |
Meter: | P. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1814 |
Topic: | Particular Occasions and Circumstances: The Troubles of Life; The Troubles of Life |