He wa­ters the hills
With rain from the skies,
And plen­ti­ful grass
And herbs He sup­plies,
Supplying the cat­tle,
And bless­ing man’s toil
With bread in abun­dance,
With wine and with oil.

The trees which the Lord
Has plant­ed are fed,
And ov­er the earth
Their branches are spread;
They keep in their shel­ter
The birds of the air,
The life of each crea­ture
The Lord makes His care.

The sea­sons are fixed
By wis­dom di­vine,
The slow chang­ing moon
Shows forth God’s de­sign;
The sun in his cir­cuit
His Mak­er obeys,
And run­ning his jour­ney
Hastes not nor de­lays.

The Lord makes the night,
When leav­ing their lair,
The li­ons creep forth,
God’s boun­ty to share;
The Lord makes the morn­ing,
When beasts steal away
And men are be­gin­ning
The work of the day.

How ma­ny and wise
Thy works are, O Lord!
The earth with the wealth
Of wis­dom is stored;
The sea bears in safe­ty
The ships to and fro,
And crea­tures un­numbered
It shel­ters be­low.

The crea­tures all look
To Thee for their food;
Thy hands op­en wide,
They gather the good;
Thy face Thou con­ceal­est,
In ang­uish they yearn;
Their breath Thou with­hold­est,
To dust they re­turn.