Eternal Source of every joy,

Well may thy praise our lips employ,

While in thy temple we appear,

Whose goodness crowns the circling year.

2 The flowery spring at thy command

Embalms the air and paints the land;

The summer rays with vigor shine,

To raise the corn and cheer the vine.

3 Thy hand in autumn richly pours

Through all our coasts redundant stores,

And winters, softened by thy care,

No more a face of horror wear.

4 Seasons and months, and weeks and days,

Demand successive songs of praise;

Still be the cheerful homage paid

With opening light and evening shade!

5 O! may our more harmonious tongues

In worlds unknown pursue the songs;

And in those brighter courts adore,

Where days and years revolve no more!