1 O praise the Lord, the heav'nly King,
Who makes the earth his care;
Visits the pastures ev'ry spring,
And bids the grass appear.
2 The clouds, like rivers, rais'd on high,
Pour out, at his command,
Their wat'ry blessings from the sky,
To cheer the thirsty land.
3 The soften'd ridges of the field
Permit the corn to spring;
The vallies rich provision yield,
And the poor lab'rers sing.
4 The little hills on ev'ry side
Rejoice at falling show'rs,
The meadows, dress'd in beauteous pride
Perfume the air with flow'rs.
5 The barren clouds refresh'd with rain,
Promise a joyful crop;
The parch'd grounds look green again,
And raise the reapers' hope.
6 The various months thy goodness crowns;
How bounteous are thy ways!
The bleating flocks spread o'er the downs,
And shepherds shout thy praise.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | O praise the Lord, our heav'nly King |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1792 |
Topic: | Thanksgiving for the Fruits of the Earth |