I will sing my Maker’s praises and in Him most joyful be,
For in all things I see traces of His tender love to me.
Nothing else than love could move Him with such sweet and tender care
Evermore to raise and bear all who try to serve and love Him.
All things else have but their day, God’s great love abides for aye.

Yea, so dear did He esteem me that His Son he loved so well
He hath given to redeem me from the quenchless flames of hell.
O Thou Spring of boundless blessing, how could e’er my feeble mind
Of Thy depth the bottom find though my efforts were unceasing?
All things else have but their day, God’s great love abides for aye.

All that for my soul is needful He with loving care provides,
Nor of that is He unheedful which my body needs besides.
When my strength cannot avail me, when my powers can do no more,
Doth my God His strength outpour; in my need He doth not fail me.
All things else have but their day, God’s great love abides for aye.

When I sleep, He still is near me, o’er me rests His guardian eye;
And new gifts and blessings cheer me when the morning streaks the sky.
Were it not for God’s protection, had His countenance not been
Here my guide, I had not seen e’er the end of my affliction.
All things else have but their day, God’s great love abides for aye.

As a father never turneth wholly from a wayward child,
For the prodigal still yearneth, longing to be reconciled,
So my many sins and errors find a tender, pardoning God,
Chastening frailty with His rod, not, in vengeance, with His terrors.
All things else have but their day, God’s great love abides for aye.

Since, then, neither change nor coldness, in my Father’s love can be,
Lo! I lift my hands with boldness, as Thy child I come to Thee.
Grant me grace, O God, I pray Thee, that I may with all my might,
All my lifetime, day and night, love and trust Thee and obey Thee
And, when this brief life is o’er, praise and love Thee evermore.

Sing with a tuneful spirit,
Sing with a cheerful lay,
Praise to thy great Creator,
While on the pilgrim way.
Sing when the birds are waking,
Sing with the morning light;
Sing in the noontide’s golden beam,
Sing in the hush of night.

Sing when the heart is troubled,
Sing when the hours are long,
Sing when the storm cloud gathers;
Sweet is the voice of song.
Sing when the sky is darkest,
Sing when the thunders roll;
Sing of a land where rest remains,
Rest for the weary soul.

Sing in the vale of shadows,
Sing in the hour of death,
And when the eyes are closing,
Sing with the latest breath.
Sing till the heart’s deep longings
Cease on the other shore;
Then with the countless numbers there,
Sing on, forever more!