Thy praise, O God, in Zi­on waits;
All flesh shall crowd Thy sac­red gates,
To of­fer sac­ri­fice and pray­er,
And pay their will­ing hom­age there.

What tho’ ini­qui­ty pre­vail,
And fee­ble flesh be prone to fail;
Yet, Lord, Thy grace Thou wilt dis­play,
And purge each hate­ful stain away.

Blest is the man ap­proved by Thee,
And brought Thy ho­ly courts to see!
Goodness, imm­ense and un­con­fined,
Shall large­ly feast his long­ing mind.

Great God, by Thy al­migh­ty hand,
The ev­er­last­ing mount­ains stand:
And ev­ery storm, and ev­ery flood,
Obey Thy all com­mand­ing nod.

Thy lightn­ings flash­ing thro’ the skies,
The wide earth fill with sad sur­prise;
But cheered by Thy en­liv­en­ing voice,
Rising and set­ting suns re­joice.

From Thy vast, un­ex­haust­ed stores,
The earth is blest with kind­ly show­ers;
And sav­age wilds and de­serts drear,
Confess Thee, Fa­ther of the year.

The flocks which graze the mount­ain’s brow,
The corn which clothes the plains be­low,
To ev­ery heart new trans­ports bring,
And hills and vales re­joice and sing.