1 Praise to God, immortal praise,
For the love that crowns our days;
Bounteous source of every joy,
Let thy praise our tongues employ;
2 For the blessings of the field,
For the stores the gardens yield,
For the vine's exalted juice,
For the generous olive's use;
3 Flocks that whiten all the plain,
Yellow sheaves of ripened grain,
Clouds that drop their fattening dews,
Suns that temperate warmth diffuse;
4 All that spring with bounteous hand
Scatters o'er the smiling land;
All that liberal autumn pours
From her rich o'erflowing stores.
5 Thanks to thee our God we owe;
Source from whence all blessings flow!
And for these our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise.
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