882. 7s. M. Ev. Magazine. |Thou crownest the year with goodness.|
1 Praise on thee, in Zion's gates,
Daily, O Jehovah! waits;
Unto thee, O God! belong
Grateful words and holy song.
2 Thou the hope and refuge art
Of remotest lands apart,
Distant isles and tribes unknown,
'Mid the ocean-waste, and lone.
3 Thou dost visit earth, and rain
Blessings on the thirsty plain,
From the copious founts on high,
From the rivers of the sky.
4 Thus the clouds thy power confess,
And thy paths drop fruitfulness:
And the voice of song and mirth
Rises from the tribes of earth.