Hark, my soul, how ev­ery­thing
Strives to serve our boun­te­ous king;
Each a dou­ble tri­bute pays,
Sings its parts, and then ob­eys.

Nature’s chief and sweet­est choir
Him with cheer­ful notes ad­mire;
Chanting ev­ery day their lauds,
While the grove their song ap­plauds.

Though their voic­es low­er be,
Streams have too their me­lo­dy;
Night and day they warb­ling run,
Never pause, but still sing on.

All the flow­ers that gild the spring
Hither their still mu­sic bring;
If Hea­ven bless them, thank­ful, they
Smell more sweet, and look more gay.

Only we can scarce af­ford
This short of­fice to our Lord;
We, on whom His boun­ty flows,
All things gives, and no­thing owes.

Wake! for shame, my slug­gish heart,
Wake! and glad­ly sing thy part;
Learn of birds, and springs, and flow­ers,
How to use thy nob­ler pow­ers.

Call whole na­ture to thy aid;
Since ’twas He whole na­ture made;
Join in one eter­nal song,
Who to one God all be­long.

Live for­ev­er, glo­ri­ous Lord!
Live by all Thy works ad­ored,
One in Three, and Three in One,
Thrice we bow to Thee alone.