How can the marvels of His love be told—
The silver brook, the grass-clothed mountain side,
The gentle kine, the music of the fold!
Our debt mounts up! No good thing is denied
That could enrich our lives. Proclaim it wide!
The matchless wonder of unchanging Love,
No shade of turning—each need satisfied;
Our thanks, like stars gemming the blue above,
Should fill our hearts with radiant joy divine.
Ever the children lisp His praise, and hark!
Joyful the plowman treads his fields and sings;
The happy scholar cons his book; the clerk
Speeds to the city, musing on great things—
How best fulfill his Father's business?—flings
Dull care aside, enriching his spare hour
With pondering on his theme—"good tidings
Of great joy," e'er present peace and power;
While wisdom, grace, and truth on each do shine.
