8,8,8,8

Great God, to thee my voice I raise,

To thee my youngest hours belong:

I would begin my life with praise,

Till growing years improve the song.

'Tis to thy sovereign grace I owe

That I was born on Christian ground;

Where streams of heavenly mercy flow,

And words of sweet salvation sound.

I would not change my native land

For rich Peru, with all her gold:

A nobler prize lies in my hand

Than east or western Indies hold.

How do I pity those that dwell

Where ignorance and darkness reign!

They know no heaven -- they fear no hell --

That endless joy -- that endless pain.

Thy glorious promises, O Lord,

Kindle my hopes and my desire:

While all the preachers of thy word

Warn me t' escape eternal fire.

Thy praise shall still employ my breath,

Since thou hast mark'd my way to heaven,

Nor will I run the road to death,

And waste the blessings thou hast given.