Our souls with pleas­ing won­der view
The boun­ties of Thy grace;
How much be­stowed, how much re­served,
For them that seek Thy face!

Thy li­ber­al hand with world­ly bliss
Oft makes their cup run o’er;
And in the co­ve­nant of Thy love
They find di­vin­er store.

Here mer­cy hides their nu­mer­ous sins;
Here grace their souls re­news;
Here Thine own re­con­cil­èd face
Doth heav’n­ly beams dif­fuse.

But O! what trea­sures yet un­known
Are lodged in worlds to come?
If these th’en­joy­ment of the Way,
How hap­py is their home?

And what shall mor­tal worms re­ply?
Or how such good­ness own?
But ’tis our joy that, Lord, to Thee
Thy ser­vants’ hearts are known.

Thine eyes shall read those grate­ful thoughts,
No lang­uage can ex­press;
Yet when our live­li­est thanks we pay,
Our debts do most in­crease.

Since time’s too short, all gra­cious God,
To ut­ter half Thy praise,
Lord, to the hon­or of Thy name
Eternal hymns we’ll raise.