The Year crowned with the divine Goodness. Psalm lxv. 11

Eternal Source of ev'ry Joy! Well may thy Praise our Lips employ, While in thy Temple we appear, Whose Goodness crowns the circling Year.

Wide as the Wheels of Nature roll Thy Hand supports the steady Pole: The Sun is taught by thee to rise, And Darkness when to veil the Skies.

The flow'ry Spring at thy Command Embalms the Air, and paints the Land; The Summer Rays with Vigour shine To raise the Corn, and chear the Vine.

Thy Hand in Autumn richly pours Thro' all our Coasts redundant Stores; And Winters, soft'ned by thy Care, No more a Face of Horror wear.

Seasons, and Months, and Weeks, and Days Demand successive Songs of Praise; Still be the chearful Homage paid With opening Light, and evening Shade.

Here in thy House shall Incense rise, As circling Sabbaths bless our Eyes; Still will we make thy Mercies known, Around thy Board, and round our own.

O may our more harmonious Tongues In Worlds unknown persue the Songs; And in those brighter Courts adore, Where Days and Years revolve no more.