We bless the Lord, the just, the good,
Who fills our hearts with joy and food:
Who pours His bless­ings from the skies,
And loads our days with rich sup­plies.

He sends the sun his cir­cuit round,
To cheer the fruits, to warm the ground;
He bids the clouds with plen­te­ous rain
Refresh the thirs­ty earth again.

’Tis to His care we owe our breath,
And all our near es­capes with death;
Safety and health to God be­long;
He heals the weak, and guards the strong.

He makes the saint and sin­ner prove
The com­mon bless­ings of His love;
But the wide dif­fer­ence that re­mains,
Is end­less joy, or end­less pains.

The Lord, that bruised the ser­pent’s head,
On all the ser­pent’s seed shall tread;
The stub­born sin­ner’s hope con­found,
And smite him with a last­ing wound.

But His right hand His saints shall raise
From the deep earth, or deep­er seas,
And bring them to His courts above;
There shall they taste His spe­cial love.