My soul, in­spired with sac­red love,
The Lord thy God de­light to praise;
His gifts I will for Him im­prove,
To Him de­vote my hap­py days;
To Him my thanks and prais­es give,
And on­ly for His glo­ry live.

Long as my God shall lend me breath,
My ev­ery pulse shall beat for Him;
And when my voice is lost in death,
My spir­it shall re­sume the theme.
The gra­cious theme, for ev­er new,
Through all eter­ni­ty pur­sue.

Soon as the breath of man ex­pires,
Again he to his earth shall turn;
Where then are all his vain de­sires,
His love and hate, es­teem and scorn?
All, all at that last gasp are o’er,
He falls to rise on earth no more.

He, then, is blest, and on­ly he,
Whose hope is in the Lord his God,
Who can to Him for suc­cor flee,
That spread the earth and Hea­ven abroad;
That still the uni­verse sus­tains,
And Lord of His cre­ation reigns.

True to His ev­er­last­ing Word,
He loves the in­jured to re­dress:
Poor help­less souls the boun­te­ous Lord
Relieves, and fills with plen­teous­ness:
He sets the mourn­ful pri­son­ers free,
He bids the blind their Sav­ior see.

The Lord thy God, O Sion, reigns,
Supreme in mer­cy as in pow­er,
The end­less theme of hea­ven­ly strains,
When time and death shall be no more:
And all eter­ni­ty shall prove
Too short to ut­ter all His love.