The Treasury Of Sacred Song

O sing the glories of our LORD;

His grace and truth resound,

And His stupendous acts record,

Whose mercies have no bound!

He made the all-informing light

And hosts of Angels fair;

'Tis He with shadows clothes the night,

He clouds or clears the air.

Those restless skies with stars enchased

He on firm hinges set;

The wave-embracéd earth He placed

His hanging cabinet.

We in His summer-sunshine stand,

And by His favour grow;

We gather what His bounteous hand

Is pleaséd to bestow.

When He contracts His brow, we mourn,

And all our strength is vain;

To former dust in death we turn,

Till He inspire again.