Hymn 67

HYMN LXVII.

Eternal Source of every joy,
Thy praise shall every voice employ,
While we within thy courts appear,
And sing the bounties of the year.

As worlds of glory round thee roll,
Thy hand supports the stedfast pole,
Directs the sun what hour to rise,
And darkness when to veil the skies.

The flowery Spring at thy command
Embalms the air, and paints the land;
The blazing beams of Summer shine
To raise the corn and cheer the vine.

Thy hand in Autumn richly pours
The copious fruits along the shores,
While wintry storms direct our eyes
With fear and wonder to the skies.

Seasons, and months, and weeks, and days
Demand returning songs of praise;
The opening light and evening shade
Shall see the cheerful homage paid.

And Oh, may our harmonious tongues
In worlds unknown pursue the songs;
And in those brighter courts adore,
Where days and years revolve no more.

HYMN LXVII.

Eternal Source of every joy,
Thy praise shall every voice employ,
While we within thy courts appear,
And sing the bounties of the year.

As worlds of glory round thee roll,
Thy hand supports the stedfast pole,
Directs the sun what hour to rise,
And darkness when to veil the skies.

The flowery Spring at thy command
Embalms the air, and paints the land;
The blazing beams of Summer shine
To raise the corn and cheer the vine.

Thy hand in Autumn richly pours
The copious fruits along the shores,
While wintry storms direct our eyes
With fear and wonder to the skies.

Seasons, and months, and weeks, and days
Demand returning songs of praise;
The opening light and evening shade
Shall see the cheerful homage paid.

And Oh, may our harmonious tongues
In worlds unknown pursue the songs;
And in those brighter courts adore,
Where days and years revolve no more.
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