Sarah Flower Adams (1805–1848)

O! I WOULD sing a song of praise,

Natural as the breeze

That stirs amongst the forest trees,

Whisp’ring ever,

Weary never,

Summer’s prime or wintry days—

So should come my song of praise.

O! I would sing a song of praise,

Sweet as breathing flowers,

That ope to greet the earlier hours;

Never-ending

Incense sending

Up, to bless their parent rays—

So should wake my song of praise.

O! I would sing a song of praise,

Holy as the night,

When heaven comes to us in the light

Of stars, whose gleaming,

Influence streaming,

Draws us upward while we gaze—

So should rise my song of praise.

To Thee, O God, a song of praise,

With breeze, and bloom, and star,

To Thee, who made us what we are—

Blessèd Spirit!

We inherit

All from Thee; then let us raise

Songs of praise—immortal praise!