Thrice hap­py souls, who, born from Hea­ven,
While yet they so­journ here,
Thus all their days with God be­gin,
And spend them in His fear.

So may our eyes, with ho­ly zeal,
Prevent the dawn­ing day,
And turn the sac­red pag­es o’er,
And praise Thy name and pray.

’Midst hour­ly cares, may love pre­sent
Its in­cense to Thy throne;
And, while the world our hands em­ploys,
Our hearts be Thine alone.

As sanc­ti­fied to nob­lest ends,
By each re­fresh­ment sought;
And, by each va­ri­ous pro­vi­dence,
Some wise in­struct­ion brought.

When to la­bo­ri­ous du­ties called,
Or by temp­ta­tions tried,
We’ll seek the shel­ter of Thy wings,
And in Thy strength con­fide.

As dif­fer­ent scenes of life arise,
Our grate­ful hearts would be
With Thee, amidst the so­cial band,
In so­li­tude with Thee.

At night we lean our wea­ry heads
On Thy pa­ter­nal breast;
And, safe­ly fold­ed in Thine arms,
Resign our pow­ers to rest.

In sol­id, pure de­lights, like these,
Let all my days be past;
Nor shall I then im­pa­tient wish,
Nor shall I fear the last.