1 There's nothing bright, above, below,
From flowers that bloom to stars that glow,
But in its light my soul can see
Some feature, glorious God! of Thee.
2 There's nothing dark, below, above,
But in its gloom I trace Thy love,
And meekly wait that moment when
Thy touch shall turn all bright again.
1 The heavens declare Thy glory, Lord!
In every star Thy wisdom shines;
But when our eyes behold Thy word,
We read Thy name in fairer lines.
2 Sun, moon, and stars convey Thy praise
Round the whole earth, and never stand;
So, when Thy truth began its race,
It touched and glanced on every land.
3 Nor shall Thy spreading gospel rest,
Till through the world Thy truth has run;
Till Christ hath all the nations blest
That see the light, or feel the sun.
4 Great Sun of Righteousness, arise!
Bless the dark world with heavenly light;
Thy gospel makes the simple wise,
Thy laws are pure, thy judgments right.
5 Thy noblest wonders here we view,
In souls renewed and sins forgiven:
Lord, cleanse my sins, my soul renew,
And make Thy word my guide to heaven!
1 Songs of immortal praise belong
To my almighty God;
He has my heart, and He my tongue.
To spread His name abroad.
2 How great the works His hand hath wrought!
How glorious in our sight!
And men in every age have sought
His wonders with delight.
3 How most exact is Nature's frame!
How wise the Eternal mind!
His counsels never change the scheme
Which his first thoughts designed.
4 Nature, and time, and earth, and skies
Thy heavenly skill proclaim;
What shall we do to make us wise,
But learn to read Thy name?
5 To fear Thy power, to trust Thy grace,
Is our divinest skill:
And he's the wisest of our race
Who best obeys Thy will.
1 Praise ye the Lord; 't is good to raise Our hearts and voices in His praise ; His nature and His works unite
To make this duty our delight.
2 He formed the stars, those heavenly flames,
He counts their numbers, calls their names;
His wisdom 's vast, and knows no bound,
A deep where all thoughts are drowned.
3 Sing to the Lord, exalt Him high
Who spreads His clouds all round the sky;
There He prepares the fruitful rain,
Nor lets the drops descend in vain.
4 He makes the grass the hills adorn,
And clothes the smiling fields with corn;
The beasts with food His hands supply,
And the young ravens when they cry.
5 Great is our Lord, and great His might,
And all His glories infinite;
His mercy melts the stubborn soul,
And makes the broken spirit whole.
6 His saints are lovely in His sight;
He views His children with delight;
He sees their hope, He knows their fear,
And looks, and loves His image there.
1 Praise to the Lord of boundless might. With uncreated glories bright!
His presence gilds the worlds above ;
The unchanging Source of light and love.
2 Our rising earth His eye beheld,
When in substantial darkness veiled;
The shapeless chaos, nature's womb,
Lay buried in eternal gloom.
3 "Let there be light!" Jehovah said,
And light o'er all its face was spread;
Nature, arrayed in charms unknown,
Gay with its new-born lustre shone.
4 He sees the mind, when lost it lies.
In shades of ignorance and vice;
And darts from heaven a vivid ray,
And changes midnight into day.
5 My soul, revived by heaven-born day,
His radiant image shall display;
While all my faculties unite
To praise the Lord, who gives me light.
1 Praise to God, immortal praise,
For the love that crowns our days:
Bounteous Source of every joy!
Let Thy praise our tongues employ;
2 For the blessings of the field,
For the stores the gardens yield,
For the vine's exalted juice,
For the generous olive's use:
3 Flocks that whiten all the plain,
Yellow sheaves of ripened grain,
Clouds that drop their fattening dews.
Suns that temperate warmth diffuse :
4 All that Spring, with bounteous hand, Scatters o'er the smiling land,
All that liberal Autumn pours
From her rich o'erflowing stores :-
5 These to Thee, my God, we owe;
Source whence all our blessings flow!
And for these my soul shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise.
1 Should the rising whirlwinds tear
From its stem the ripening ear;
Should the fig-tree's blasted shoot
Drop her green untimely fruit;
2 Should the vine put forth no more,
Nor the olive yield her store;
Though the sickening flocks should fall, And the herds desert the stall;
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