Let Thy praise our tongues employ!
All to Thee, our God, we owe,
Source whence all our blessings flow!
2 All the blessings of the fields,
All the stores the garden yields,
Flocks that whiten all the plain,
Yellow sheaves of ripened grain;—
Lord, for these our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise!
3 All that spring with bounteous hand