1 Praise the Lord, when blushing morning Wakes the blossoms fresh with dew! When the world, again created, Beams with beauties fair and new!
2 Praise the Lord, when early breezes Come so fragrant from the flowers! Praise, thou willow by the brookside! Praise, ye birds, among the bowers!
3 Praise the Lord! and may His blessing Guide us in the way of truth, Keep our feet from paths of error, Make us holy in our youth.
4 Praise the Lord, ye hosts of heaven! Angels, sing your sweetest lays! All things utter forth His glory! Sound your great Creator's praise!
1 How glad the tone when summer's sun Wreaths the gay world with flowers, And trees bend down with golden fruit, And birds are in their bowers!
2 The morn sends silent music down Upon each earthly thing; And always since creation's dawn The stars together sing.
3 Shall man remain in silence, then, While all beneath the skies The chorus joins? no, let us sing, And while our voices rise,
4 O, let our lives, great God, breathe forth A constant melody; And every action be a tone In that sweet hymn to Thee!
1 The earth, all light and loveliness, In summer's golden hours, Shines, in her bridal vesture clad, And crowned with festal flowers, So radiantly beautiful, So like to heaven above, We scarce can deem more fair that world Of perfect bliss and love.
2 Is this a shadow faint and dim Of that which is to come! What shall the unveiled splendor be Of our celestial home, Where waves the glorious tree of life, Where streams of bliss gush free, And all is glowing in the light Of immortality!
1 Fountain of life, and God of love! How rich Thy bounties are! The rolling seasons, as they move, Proclaim Thy constant care.
2 When in the bosom of the earth The sower hid the grain, Thy goodness marked its secret birth, And sent the early rain.
3 The spring's sweet influence, Lord, was Thine, Its mild, refreshing showers; Thou gav'st the ripening suns to shine, And summer's golden hours.
4 Thy quickening life, forever near, Matured the swelling grain;-- The bounteous harvest crowns the year, And plenty fills the plain.
5 With thankful hearts we trace Thy way Through all our smiling vales; Thou, by whose love, nor night nor day, Seed-time nor harvest, fails!