Can you count the stars that brightly
Twinkle in the midnight sky?
Can you count the clouds, so lightly
O’er the meadows floating by?
God, the Lord, doth mark their number,
With His eyes that never slumber;
He hath made them every one,
He hath made them every one.

Can you count the wings now flashing
In the sunshine’s golden light?
Can you count the fishes splashing
In the cooling waters bright?
God, the Lord, a name hath given,
To all creatures under Heaven;
He hath named them every one,
He hath named them every one.

Do you know how many children
Rise each morning blithe and gay?
Can you count their jolly voices,
Singing sweetly day by day?
God hears all the happy voices,
In their merry songs rejoices;
And He loves them, every one
And He loves them, every one.

Do you know how many stars
There are shining in the sky?
Do you know how many clouds
Every day go floating by?
God, the Lord, their number knoweth,
For each one His care He showeth,
Of the bright and boundless host,
Of the bright and boundless host.

Do you know how many birdies
In the sunshine sing each day?
Do you know how many fishes
In the sparkling water play?
God, the Lord, who dwells in Heaven,
Name and life to each has given,
In His love they live and move,
In His love they live and move.

Do you know how many children
Go to little beds at night,
And without a care or sorrow
Wake again with morning light?
God in Heav’n each name can tell,
Know us, too, and loves us well,
He’s our best and dearest Friend,
He’s our best and dearest Friend.

Infinite God, to Thee we raise
Our hearts in solemn songs of praise,
By all Thy works on earth adored,
We worship Thee, the common Lord;
The everlasting Father own,
And bow our souls before Thy throne.

Thee all the choir of angels sings,
The Lord of hosts, the King of kings;
Cherubs proclaim Thy praise aloud,
And seraphs shout the Triune God;
And, “Holy, holy, holy,” cry,
“Thy glory fills both earth and sky!”

God of the patriarchal race,
The ancient seers record Thy praise,
The goodly apostolic band
In highest joy and glory stand;
And all the saints and prophets join
To extol Thy majesty divine.

Head of the martyrs’ noble host,
Of Thee they justly make their boast;
The church, to earth’s remotest bounds,
Her heavenly Founder’s praise resounds;
And strives, with those around the throne,
To hymn the mystic Three in One.

Father of endless majesty,
All might and love they render Thee;
Thy true and only Son adore,
The same in dignity and power;
And God the Holy Ghost declare,
The saints’ eternal Comforter.

O sing to the Lord, whose bountiful hand
Again doth accord His gifts to the land.
His clouds have shed down their plenteousness here,
His goodness shall crown the hopes of the year.

In clefts of the hills the founts He hath burst,
And poureth their rills through valleys athirst,
The river of God the pastures has blest,
The dry, withered sod in greenness is dressed.

And every fold shall team with its sheep,
With harvests of gold the fields shall be deep;
The vales shall rejoice with laughter and song,
And man’s grateful voice the music prolong.

So too may He pour, the Last and the First,
His graces in store on spirits athirst,
Till, when the great day of harvest hath come,
He takes us away to garner at home.

All beautiful the march of days, as seasons come and go;
The Hand that shaped the rose hath wrought the crystal of the snow;
Hath sent the hoary frost of Heav’n, the flowing waters sealed,
And laid a silent loveliness on hill and wood and field.

O’er white expanses sparkling pure the radiant morns unfold;
The solemn splendors of the night burn brighter than the cold;
Life mounts in every throbbing vein, love deepens round the hearth,
And clearer sounds the angel hymn, “Good will to men on earth.”

O Thou from Whose unfathomed law the year in beauty flows,
Thyself the vision passing by in crystal and in rose,
Day unto day doth utter speech, and night to night proclaim,
In ever changing words of light, the wonder of Thy Name.

’Tis winter now; the fallen snow
Has left the heav’ns all coldly clear;
Through leafless boughs the sharp winds blow,
And all the earth lies dead and drear.

And yet God’s love is not withdrawn;
His life within the keen air breathes;
His beauty paints the crimson dawn,
And clothes the boughs with glittering wreaths.

And though abroad the sharp winds blow,
And skies are chill, and frosts are keen,
Home closer draws her circle now,
And warmer glows her light within.

O God! Who giv’st the winter’s cold
As well as summer’s joyous rays,
Us warmly in Thy love enfold,
And keep us through life’s wintry days.