Great God, to thee my voice I raise,
To thee my youngest hours belong:
I would begin my life with praise,
Till growing years improve the song.
’Tis to thy sovereign grace I owe
That I was born on Christian ground;
Where streams of heavenly mercy flow,
And words of sweet salvation sound.
I would not change my native land
For rich Peru, with all her gold:
A nobler prize lies in my hand
Than east or western Indies hold.
How do I pity those that dwell
Where ignorance and darkness reign!
They know no heaven—they fear no hell—
That endless joy—that endless pain.
Thy glorious promises, O Lord,
Kindle my hopes and my desire:
While all the preachers of thy word
Warn me t’ escape eternal fire.
Thy praise shall still employ my breath,
Since thou hast mark’d my way to heaven,
Nor will I run the road to death,
And waste the blessings thou hast given.
|First Line:||Great God, to thee my voice I raise|
|Title:||Great God, to thee my voice I raise|
|Author:||Isaac Watts (1715)|