Hymn LXXVIII. Long Metre. itude for all Things

God of my life, my thanks to thee, Shall like my debts, continual be; In constant stream, thy bounty flows, Nor end, nor intermission knows.

From thee, my comforts all arise, My num'rous wants thy hand supplies; Nor can I need or wish for more, Than thou canst furnish from thy store.

If what I ask, my God denies, It is because he's good and wise; And what for evils I mistake, He can my greatest blessings make.

Deep, Lord, upon my thankful breast, Let all thy goodness be impress'd; Dispose me, each revolving day, For daily gifts, my praise to pay.

In praise I'll spend my latest breath, Then yield it to the call of death; In hope that thou my flesh wilt raise To celebrate thy deathless praise.