54 lines
2.8 KiB
HTML
54 lines
2.8 KiB
HTML
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<title>BLB Hymns</title>
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<h2>PRAISE TO GOD, IMMORTAL PRAISE</h2>
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<p align="center"><h3>“Let the people praise Thee, O God.” Psalm 67:3</h3></p>
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<center><b>Hymns Supplied Through the Gracious Generosity<br>of the </b><a href="http://www.hymntime.com/tch/" target = "_blank"><b>Cyber Hymnal Website</b></a><br><br><a href="./hymns/hymns_html/cyberhymnal_info.html" target = "_blank">Information about Cyber Hymnal Website</a></center>
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<td><img src="./hymns/hymns_img/img_b_a_barbauld_ala.jpg" alt="Anna Laetitia Aikin Barbauld (1743-1825)" width="116.666666666667" height="168.666666666667"></td>
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<td><em>Words:</em> <a href="./hymns/hymns_bio/bio_b_a_barbauld_ala.html" target="_blank">Anna Laetitia Aikin Barbauld</a>, in Dr. Enfield’s <em>Hymns</em>, 1772.
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<p><em>Music:</em> “Nuremberg,” alt. from <a href="./hymns/hymns_bio/bio_a_h_ahle_jr.html" target="_blank">Johann Rudolf Ahle</a>, 1664 </p><p><table><tr><td><a href="./hymns/hymns_mid/mid_n_nurembrg.mid" target = "_blank"><img border=0 src="./hymns/hymns_img/notes.gif"><br><b>Play MIDI</b></a></td><td> </td><td><a href="./hymns/hymns_html/score_info.html" target = "_blank"><b>Link to obtain<br>musical score info</b></a></td></tr></table></p>
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<div class="lyrics">
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<p>Praise to God, immortal praise,<br>
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For the love that crowns our days;<br>
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Bounteous Source of every joy,<br>
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Let Thy praise our tongues employ.</p>
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<p>Flocks that whiten all the plain;<br>
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Yellow sheaves of ripened grain;<br>
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Clouds that drop their fattening dews,<br>
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Suns that temperate warmth diffuse.</p>
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<p>All that Spring with bounteous hand<br>
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Scatters o’er the smiling land;<br>
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All that liberal Autumn pours<br>
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From her rich o’erflowing stores.</p>
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<p>These to Thee, my God, we owe,<br>
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Source whence all our blessings flow;<br>
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And for these my soul shall raise<br>
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Grateful vows and solemn praise.</p>
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<p>Yet, should rising whirlwinds tear<br>
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From its stem the ripening ear;<br>
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Should the fig tree’s blasted shoot<br>
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Drop her green untimely fruit,</p>
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<p>Should the vine put forth no more,<br>
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Nor the olive yield her store;<br>
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Though the sickening flocks should fall,<br>
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And the herds desert the stall,</p>
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<p>Yet to Thee my soul shall raise<br>
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Grateful vows and solemn praise;<br>
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And, when every blessing’s flown<br>
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Love Thee for Thyself alone.</p>
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