All that’s good, and great, and true,
All that is and is to be,
Be it old or be it new,
Comes, O Fa­ther, comes from Thee.

Mercies dawn with ev­ery day,
Newer, bright­er than be­fore;
And the sun’s de­clin­ing ray
Layeth oth­ers up in store.

Not a bird that doth not sing
Sweetest prais­es to Thy name;
Not an in­sect on the wing
But Thy won­ders doth pro­claim.

Every blade and ev­ery tree
All in hap­py con­cert ring,
And in won­drous har­mo­ny
Join in prais­es to their king.

Fill us, then, with love di­vine;
Grant that we, though toil­ing here,
May in spir­it, be­ing Thine,
See and hear Thee ev­ery­where.

May we all, with songs of praise,
Whilst on earth Thy name adore,
Till with an­gel choirs we raise
Songs of praise for­ev­er­more.