And in their accents of distress
Thy pleading voice is heard.
Thy face, with rev'rence and with love,
We in Thy poor would see;
For while we minister to them,
We do it, Lord, to Thee.
HYMN 29.
Fountain of mercy, God of love,
How rich Thy bounties are;
The changing seasons as they move,
Proclaim Thy constant care.
When in the bosom of the earth
The sower hid the grain,
Thy goodness mark'd its secret birth,
And sent the early rain.
The spring's sweet influence, Lord, was Thine,
The plants in beauty grew;
Thou gav'st the summer's sun to shine,
The mild refreshing dew.
These various mercies from above
Matur'd the swelling grain;
A kindly harvest crowns Thy love,
And plenty fills the plain.
We own and bless Thy gracious sway;
Thy hand all nature hails;
Seedtime nor harvest, night nor day,
Summer nor winter fails.
