1151    C.M.     Boyce
Harvest. Acts. 14. 17

1 Great sovereign Lord, what human eye
  Amidst thy works can rove,
  And not thy liberal hand espy,
  Nor trace thy bounteous love?

2 Each star that gilds the heavenly frame,
  On earth each verdant clod,
  In language loud to men proclaim
  The great and bounteous God.

3 The lesson each revolving year
  Repeats in various ways;
  Rich thy provisions, Lord, appear:
  The poor shall shout thy praise.

4 Our fruitful fields and pastures tell,
  Of man and beast thy care;
  The thriving corn thy breezes fill,
  Thy breath perfumes the air.

5 But oh, what human eye can trace,
  Or human heart conceive,
  The greater riches of thy grace
  Impoverished souls receive?

6 Love everlasting has not spared
  Its best belovèd Son;
  And in him endless life prepared,
  For souls by sin undone.