Almighty King! whose wond­rous hand,
Supports the weight of sea and land;
Whose grace is such a bound­less store,
No heart shall break that sighs for more.

Thy pro­vi­dence sup­plies my food,
And ’tis Thy bless­ing makes it good;
My soul is nour­ished by Thy word,
Let soul and body praise the Lord.

My streams of out­ward com­fort came
From Him who built this earth­ly frame;
Whate’er I want His boun­ty gives,
By whom my soul for ev­er lives.

Either His hand pre­serves from pain,
Or, if I feel it, heals again;
From Sa­tan’s malice shields my breast,
Or ov­er­rules it for the best.

Forgive the song that falls so low
Beneath the gra­ti­tude I owe!
It means Thy praise, how­ev­er poor,
An an­gel’s song can do no more.