Thanksgiving Hymn

Almighty Father! at Thy Throne
A grateful people kneel.
Father of Mercies, Thou alone
Canst compass what we feel.

We thank Thee for the pleasant land
In which our lots are cast;
The guidance of Thy eydant hand
Through all its perils past.

We thank Thee for the forms that guard
The liberties we prize,
For every cherish'd old Church-yard,
Where rest the good and wise.

We thank Thee for the Altars free.
The Courts without a stain —
The glowing page of History,
The Bard's heroic strain;

The Martyr's death — the Prophet's fire,
The Christian soldier's sword;
But chiefly let our hearts aspire
To thank Thee for thy Word:

And for the hallow'd life and death
Of Him to guide us given:
The hopes that hang upon His breath,
The promised rest in Heaven.

For lesser mercies teach us too
The grateful song to raise:
Let all we think, and say, and do,
Be moulded to Thy praise.

We thank Thee for the daily bread,
That human life sustains;
For flocks and herds profusely spread
O'er all our hills and plains.

We thank Thee for the wealth we bring
Up from the pregnant mine,
For ages stored — each precious thing
Is ours, and yet is Thine.

We thank Thee for the mighty deep,
To which our sons go down;
For tranquil bays that calmly sleep
Beyond the tempest's frown.

We thank Thee for the stars above,
The flow'ry soil we tread,
For friendship's grasp — the smile of love,
The song bird over head.

In prayer and praise our souls ascend
To Thy Almighty Throne;
Father of Mercies — guide and friend,
Our humble tribute own.

Almighty Father! at Thy Throne
A grateful people kneel.
Father of Mercies, Thou alone
Canst compass what we feel.

We thank Thee for the pleasant land
In which our lots are cast;
The guidance of Thy eydant hand
Through all its perils past.

We thank Thee for the forms that guard
The liberties we prize,
For every cherish'd old Church-yard,
Where rest the good and wise.

We thank Thee for the Altars free.
The Courts without a stain —
The glowing page of History,
The Bard's heroic strain;

The Martyr's death — the Prophet's fire,
The Christian soldier's sword;
But chiefly let our hearts aspire
To thank Thee for thy Word:

And for the hallow'd life and death
Of Him to guide us given:
The hopes that hang upon His breath,
The promised rest in Heaven.

For lesser mercies teach us too
The grateful song to raise:
Let all we think, and say, and do,
Be moulded to Thy praise.

We thank Thee for the daily bread,
That human life sustains;
For flocks and herds profusely spread
O'er all our hills and plains.

We thank Thee for the wealth we bring
Up from the pregnant mine,
For ages stored — each precious thing
Is ours, and yet is Thine.

We thank Thee for the mighty deep,
To which our sons go down;
For tranquil bays that calmly sleep
Beyond the tempest's frown.

We thank Thee for the stars above,
The flow'ry soil we tread,
For friendship's grasp — the smile of love,
The song bird over head.

In prayer and praise our souls ascend
To Thy Almighty Throne;
Father of Mercies — guide and friend,
Our humble tribute own.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.