God of my life, through all its days,
My grate­ful pow­ers shall sound Thy praise;
The song shall wake with op­en­ing light,
And war­ble to the si­lent night.

When anx­ious cares would break my rest,
And griefs would tear my throb­bing breast,
Thy tune­ful prais­es raised on high,
Shall check the mur­mur, and the sigh.

When death o’er na­ture shall pre­vail,
And all its pow­ers of lang­uage fail,
Joy through my swim­ming eyes shall break,
And mean the thanks I can­not speak.

But O! when that last con­flict’s o’er,
And I am chained to flesh no more,
With what glad ac­cents shall I rise
To join the mu­sic of the skies!

Soon shall I learn th’ex­alt­ed strains
Which ec­ho o’er the hea­ven­ly plains;
And emu­late with joy un­known,
The glow­ing se­raphs round Thy throne.

The cheer­ful tri­bute will I give,
Long as a death­less soul can live;
A work so sweet, a theme so high,
Demands, and crowns eter­ni­ty.