4 Indulgent God! from every part, Thy plenteous blessings largely flow; We see,--we taste;--let every heart With grateful love and duty glow. 853. C. M. Watts. Seasons. 1 With songs and honors sounding loud, Address the Lord on high; O'er all the heavens he spreads his cloud, And waters veil the sky. 2 He sends his showers of blessings down, To cheer the plains below; He makes the grass the mountains crown, And corn in valleys grow. 3 His steady councils change the face Of each declining year; He bids the sun cut short his race, And wintry days appear. 4 On us his providence has shone, With gentle, smiling rays; O, may our lips and lives make known His goodness and his praise. 854. H. M. J. Taylor. Providence acknowledged in the Seasons. 1 Rejoice! the Lord is King: Your Lord and King adore; Mortals! give thanks and sing, And triumph evermore: Lift up your hearts, lift up your voice; Rejoice, in sacred lays rejoice. 2 His wintry north winds blow, Loud tempests rush amain; Yet his thick showers of snow Defend the infant grain: Lift up your hearts, lift up your voice; Rejoice, in sacred lays rejoice. 3 He wakes the genial spring, Perfumes the balmy air; The vales their tribute bring, The promise of the year: Lift up your hearts, lift up your voice Rejoice, in sacred lays rejoice. 4 He leads the circling year; His flocks the hills adorn; He fills the golden ear, And loads the field with corn; O happy mortals! raise your voice; Rejoice, in sacred lays rejoice. 855. 7s. M. Barbauld. The Seasons. 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 All that Spring, with bounteous hand, Scatters o'er the smiling land,-- All that liberal Autumn pours From her rich o'erflowing stores,-- 3 These to that dear Source we owe Whence our sweetest comforts flow; These, through all my happy days, Claim my cheerful songs of praise. 4 Lord, to thee my soul should raise Grateful, never-ending praise, And, when every blessing's flown, Love thee for thyself alone. 856. L. M. Doddridge. The Same. 1 Eternal Source of every joy! Well may thy praise our lips employ, While in thy temple we appear, To hail thee Sovereign of the year. 2 Wide as the wheels of nature roll, Thy hand supports and guides the whole; By thee the sun is taught to rise, And darkness when to veil the skies.