All things bless Thee, God most ho­ly,
To Thy feet their wor­ship bring;
Thou art wor­thy of all prais­es,
Ever bless­èd glo­ri­ous King.
Earth, and air, and ocean’s full­ness,
All Thy pow­er and love de­clare;
And in this ex­ult­ant chor­us,
May not lit­tle child­ren share?

Childhood’s trea­sures are Thy giv­ing,
Sunny days and laugh­ing hours,
Daisied mea­dows in the spring­time,
Roses in the sum­mer bow­ers—
Food and rai­ment, home and shel­ter,
Sleep for wea­ried eye and limb,
Dawning day, and hap­py wak­ing
To the birds’ sweet morn­ing hymn.

And when old and young had wan­dered
Into faults and fol­lies wild,
Surely Thou didst think of child­ren,
Sending forth Thy Son a child.
Lord, for­give our ma­ny er­rors,
And re­store us when we fall,
Thy loved Child is our Re­deem­er—
By His mer­cy save us all.

Help us now to be as He was,
Pure and gen­tle, good and kind,
Give us of His peace­ful spir­it,
And His meek and low­ly mind.
Teach our hearts to feel Thy mer­cy,
Turn our eyes to look to Thee;
May we trust in Thee our Fa­ther,
And Thy lov­ing child­ren be.

And when youth’s brief morn is ov­er,
Still be Thou our con­stant guide;
Through the hot day’s dus­ty tra­vel,
Set of sun, and ev­en­tide.
And when death’s dark night has fall­en,
Lead us through the aw­ful door;
Satisfy us with Thy pre­sence,
Be our joy for­ev­er­more.