1 Eternal Source of every joy,
Well may thy praise our lips employ,
While in thy temple we appear,
Whose goodness crowns the circling year.

2 The flowery spring at thy command
Embalms the air and paints the land;
The summer rays with vigour shine,
To raise the corn, and cheer the vine.

3 Thy hand in autumn richly pours
Through all our coasts abundant stores,
And winters, softened by thy care,
No more their barren aspect wear.

4 Seasons and months and weeks and days
Demand successive songs of praise;
Still be the cheerful homage paid
With opening light and evening shade.

5 To thee by every right belongs
The sweetest note in all our songs,
But also what must please thee more:
Our lives to serve, our hearts to adore.