The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on his way,
The moon and stars their Maker’s name in silent pomp display.
3 Shall man, the lord of nature, expectant of the sky—
Shall man, alone unthankful, his little praise deny!
No, let the year forsake his course, the seasons cease to be,
Thee, Father, must we always love—Creator! honor thee.
4 The flowers of spring may wither, the hope of summer fade,
The autumn droop in winter, the bird forsake the shade;
The winds be lulled—the sun and moon forget their old decree;
But we, in nature’s latest hour, Lord, will cling to thee!