The tall trees shout hosannas,
And the little green hills sing;
Through every age, in confidence,
Bright praise to God they bring.
And he who sings, despite all things
That threaten to destroy,
Shall trace sweet springs in a desert place,
And blossoming of joy;
For neither sin nor sorrowing,
Nor shadow of old wrong,
Can long endure when steadfast, pure
Delight pours forth in song.
Sing, then, my soul; in each event
Let only gladness reign,
And praise for Love's great kindness rise,
A constant, full refrain!
