Classic Poem

O all you lands, the treasures of your joy,
In merry shout upon the Lord bestow:
Your service cheerfully on him employ,
With triumpth song into his presence go.
Know first that he is God; and after know
This God did us, not we our selves create:
We are his flock, for us his feedings grow:
We are his folk, and he upholds our state.
With thankfulness O enter then his gate:
Make through each porch of his your praises ring.
All good, all grace, of his high name relate,
He of all grace and goodness is the spring.
Time in no terms his mercy comprehends,
From age to age his truth it self extends.