Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THANKSGIVING HYMN, by JOHN BYROM



Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

Rhyming Dictionary Search
THANKSGIVING HYMN, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: O come let us sing to the lord a new song
Last Line: Yea, let ev'ry thing praise thee—amen, and amen.
Subject(s): Holidays; Kindness; Lord's Supper; Thanksgiving; Worship


O COME let us sing to the Lord a new song,
And praise him to whom all our praises belong;
While we enter his temple, with gladness and joy,
Let a psalm of thanksgiving our voices employ:
O come, to his name let us joyfully sing!
For the Lord is a great and omnipotent King;
By his word were the heav'ns and the host of them made,
And of all the round world the foundation he laid.

He plac'd, in the centre, you beautiful Sun;
And the orbs that, about him, due distances run;
To receive, as they haste their vast rounds to complete,
Of a lustre, so dazzling, the light and the heat.
What language of men can the brightness unfold
Of His presence, whose creature they cannot behold?
What a light is His light! Of its infinite day
The sun by his splendour can paint but a ray.

The Sun, in the evening, is out of our sight,
And the Moon is enlighten'd to govern the night.
His power we behold, in yon high arched roof,
When the Stars, in their order, shine forth in its proof:
While the works, so immense, of thy fingers we see,
And reflect on our littleness, Lord, what are we?
Yet, while 'tis our glory thy name to adore,
Even angels of Heav'n cannot boast any more.

Praise the Lord, upon earth, all ye nations and lands,
Ye seasons and times, that fulfil his commands;
Let his works, in all places, his goodness proclaim,
And the people, who see them, give thanks to his name.
For the good, which He wills to communicate, brings
Into visible form his invisible things:
Their appearance may change, as his law shall ordain,
But the goodness that forms will for ever remain.

What a world of good things does all nature produce,
Which the Lord, in his mercy, hath made for our use!
The earth, by his blessing bestow'd on its soil,
By his rain and his sunshine, gives corn, wine, and oil.
Let men to adore Him, then, thankfully join,
When fill'd with his bread, or made glad by his wine;
As in wealth, so in gratitude, let them abound;
And the voice of His praise be heard all the world round.

They, that o'er the wide ocean their bus'ness pursue,
Can tell to his wonders what praises are due:
When tost, to and fro, by the huge swelling wave,
They rise up to Heav'n, or sink down to the grave;
Dismay'd with the tempest, that mocks at their skill,
They cry to the Lord, and he maketh it still.
His works in remembrance, ye mariners, keep,
And praise Him whose judgments are like the great deep.

He stilleth the waves of the boisterous sea,
And the tumults of men, more outrageous than they.
Thy goodness, O Lord, let the people confess,
Whom wars do not waste, nor proud tyrants oppress;
And devoutly contemplate thy wonderful ways,
Thou that turnest the fierceness of men to thy praise:
Then lands, in due season, shall yield their increase,
And the Lord give his people the blessings of peace.

The Lord is on high, far above all our thought—
How then shall we worship him so as we ought?
What tongue can express, or what words can shew forth
The praise which is due to his excellent worth?
Ye righteous, and ye that in virtue excel,
Begin the glad task which becomes you so well;
The Lord shall be pleas'd when he heareth your voice,
And in his own works shall th' Almighty rejoice.

The Lord hath his dwelling far out of our view,
And yet humbleth Himself to behold what we do;
To his works, all around Him, his mercies extend,
His works have no number, his mercies no end;
He accepteth our thanks, if the heart do but pay;
Tho' we never can reach Him, by all we can say.
How just is the duty! How pure the delight!
Since whilst we give praises we honour him right.

Praise the Lord, O my soul! All the pow'rs of my mind,
Praise the Lord, who hath been so exceedingly kind!
Who spareth my life and forgiveth my sin,
Still directeth the way that I ought to walk in:
When I speak, let me thank Him; whenever I write,
The remembrance of Him let the subject excite;
Guide, Lord, to thy glory, my tongue and my pen:
Yea, let ev'ry thing praise Thee—Amen, and Amen.





Other Poems of Interest...



Home: PoetryExplorer.net