Praise to God, immortal praise

Praise to God, immortal praise,
for the love that crowns our days;
bounteous source of every joy,
let thy praise our tongues employ:

for the blessings of the fields,
for the stores the garden yields,
flocks that whiten all the plain,
yellow sheaves of ripened grain:

all that spring with bounteous hand
scatters o'er the smiling land:
all that liberal autumn pours;
from her rich o'erflowing stores:

These to thee, O God, we owe:
source whence all our blessings flow;
and for these our souls shall raise
grateful vows and solemn praise.

Words: Anna Laetitia Barbauld, 1772 (original version)

Music: Monkland, Harts, Keine Schönheit, Xavier, Orientis partibus
for a six-line version set to Dix, click here.

Meter: 77 77

Website compiled by Steve Benner, 1999-2003.