Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected praise. Matthew 21:16
Great God, to Thee my voice I raise,
To Thee my youngest hours belong;
I would begin my life with praise;
Till growing years improve the song.
’Tis to Thy sovereign grace I owe
That I was born on Christian ground,
Where streams of heav’nly mercy flow,
And words of sweet salvation sound.
I would not change my native land
For rich Peru, with all her gold;
A nobler prize lies in my hand,
Than East or Western Indies hold.
How do I pity those that dwell
Where ignorance or darkness reigns;
They know no heaven, they fear no hell,
Those endless joys, those endless pains.
Thy glorious promises, O Lord,
Kindle my hopes and my desire;
While all the preachers of Thy word
Warn me to ’scape eternal fire.
Thy praise shall still employ my breath
Since Thou hast marked my way to Heav’n;
Nor will I run the road to death,
And waste the blessings Thou hast giv’n.