Shall I not my God be praising,
And in Him not joyful be?
For in all His works amazing,
See I not His care for me?
Is it not pure love that filleth,
And His faithful heart o'erflows,
When He ever cares for those,
Who do only what He willeth?
All things run their course below,
God's love doth for ever flow.

As its brood the eagle over,
Ever more its wings doth spread.
So the Highest aye doth cover
With His arms of pow'r my head.
In the womb e'en of my mother,
When to me He being gave,
E'en the life that now I have,
Was He then my shield and cover.
All things run their course below,
God's love doth for ever flow.

Not too great a gift He even
Deem'd His only Son to be;
Him to death hath freely given,
Me from fear of hell to free.
Oh! Thou spring of boundless blessing,
How could e'er my feeble mind
Of Thy depth the bottom find,
Though my efforts were unceasing?
All things run their course below,
God's love doth for ever flow.

And the Holy Ghost to guide me,
Noble Leader! He hath giv'n,
That He through the world may lead me,
Onward to the gate of heav'n.
That my heart He may be filling
With th' unclouded light of faith,
That can break the pow'r of death,
And hell's rage hath pow'r of stilling.
All things run their course below,
God's love doth for ever flow.

For my soul's well-being ever
Full provision doth He make,
And in ev'ry need deliver,
For the body care doth take.
When my pow'r, my best endeavour
Cometh to extremity,
Then my God appears to me,
With His might comes to deliver.
All things run their course below,
God's love doth for ever flow.

All the things in earth and heaven,
E'en where'er I turn my eye,
For my benefit are given,
That they may my need supply.
All that's living, all that's growing,
On the hills or in the woods,
In the vales or 'neath the floods,
God is for my good bestowing.
All things run their course below,
God's love doth for ever flow.

When I sleep, His eye is waking,
When I wake, He strength'neth me,
Each new morn fresh courage taking,
I new love and goodness see.
Had my God existed never,
Had His face not guided me,
From such ills so frequently,
None could have deliver'd ever.
All things run their course below,
God's love doth for ever flow.

'Gainst me many is the weapon,
Forg'd by Satan's enmity,
But no real hurt can happen,
None hath yet befallen me.
God's own angel whom He sendeth,
Wardeth off each deadly blow
Aim'd by the untiring foe,
Who our ruin thus intendeth.
All things run their course below,
God's love doth for ever flow.

As a father ne'er withdraweth
From his child his love away,
Though he often evil doeth,
And from wisdom's paths doth stray.
So God's heart towards me moveth,
All my sins forgiveth He,
Not in vengeance smiteth me,
As a Father He reproveth.
All things run their course below,
God's love doth for ever flow.

Ev'ry blow His hand inflicteth,
Though the heart with pain it rend,
When my heart aright reflecteth,
Is a token that my Friend
Thinks on me, and tow'rds me yearneth,
Me from this ill world would free,
That has so entangled me,
By the cross to Him me turneth.
All things run their course below,
God's love doth for ever flow.

This I know full well, and never
Let it from my mind depart,
Christ's cross hath its limit ever,
And at length must cease to smart.
When the winter snows are over
Lovely summer will appear,
Who can hope, from ev'ry fear,
And from pain, shall they recover.
All things run their course below,
God's love doth for ever flow.

In God's love there is no ending,
Ne'er a limit find I there,
So my hands to Thee extending,
As Thy child, I raise my pray'r.
Father! deign Thy grace to give me,
That I may with all my might
Thee embrace both day and night,
All my life may never leave thee,
And when life is o'er with me,
Love and praise eternally.

PROTECTION OF GOD IN HITHERTO DANGEROUS TIMES OF WAR.

How heavy is the burden made
That Thou upon our backs hast laid,
O God! the Lord of Hosts,
O God, whose anger rises high
'Gainst workers of iniquity.

The burden is the cruel tide
Of war, that earth with blood has dyed,
And fill'd with bitter tears.
It is a fire that rages high
'Neath suns of almost every sky.

The burden's great and hard to bear,
But Thy strong arm and Father's care
Are not to us unknown.
Thou punishest, but 'mid the woe
Thou love and friendliness dost show.

But true to Thee must we abide,
For ne'er from us dost Thou quite hide
Thy saving health and light.
How many hast Thou given o'er,
We've oft been shielded by Thy pow'r.

In many a sad and weary hour,
When gath'ring clouds did o'er us low'r
Above our anxious heads,
Thou still'd'st the storm, whose mighty hand
Upholdeth sky and sea and land.

How often, Lord, by day and night,
Our enemies with craft and might
Have threaten'd us, Thy flock!
But, faithful Shepherd! Thou wast near,
Repell'dst the wolf and still'dst our fear.

Our brethren are compell'd to roam,
Are driven forth from house and home,
While we, Lord, still enjoy
Each one his seat beneath the shade
By his own vine and fig-tree made.

Behold! my heart, on every hand
The towns and fields of many a land
Are doom'd to ruin sure,
The homes of men are overthrown,
The houses of our God cast down.

But rest and order still remain
With us, and we can still maintain
The worship of our God.
God's mind from out His holy word
'Mongst us is daily taught and heard.

Whoever this doth not perceive,
But to the winds such thoughts doth give,
Who in such blessed light
No grace, no love, no goodness find,
How dark, thrice darken'd is their mind!

O gracious God! preserve us free
For aye from such stupidity;
Lord, give us gratitude,
That songs of praise in sweetest tone
We may present before Thy throne.

To nought we've done, or e'er can do,
To Thee -- to Thee alone is due
The praise, O fount of love!
We've earned destruction from Thy face,
Thou deal'st with us in love and grace.

Oh! may we meditate Thy grace,
Till heart shall burn and tongue shall praise,
And give angelic zeal,
That every throbbing pulse may be
A note of praise, O Lord! to Thee.

But let the tide of woe recede,
Restore to us our joy, we plead,
May peace to us return.
How many in this vale of tears
Have never witness'd peaceful years!

Are we unworthy? then with Thee
We plead for helpless infancy,
Who wrong have never done.
Shall cradled infants feel the stroke,
Shall they endure the heavy yoke?

Have pity, Lord! oh, tender heart!
What heavy sighs, what bitter smart,
From our sad hearts are wrung!
No stone, our Saviour God art Thou,
How canst Thou so afflict us now?

How grievous are our wounds and sore,
They stink and fester more and more,
But Thou canst heal them all.
Pour in the oil of grace, that whole
Can make the body and the soul.

This wilt Thou do, we certainly
Believe, although we nowhere see
The means in all the world.
But Thou in our extremity
Dost find Thine opportunity.