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 heav’n, 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.