Isaac Watts · 7 of 49

Song 5. Great God, to thee my voice I raise

Great God, to thee my voice I raise, To thee my youngest hours belong: I would begin my life with praise, Till growing years improve the song.

’Tis to thy sovereign grace I owe That I was born on Christian ground; Where streams of heavenly mercy flow, And words of sweet salvation sound.

I would not change my native land For rich Peru, with all her gold: A nobler prize lies in my hand Than east or western Indies hold.

How do I pity those that dwell Where ignorance and darkness reign! They know no heaven—they fear no hell— That endless joy—that endless pain.

Thy glorious promises, O Lord, Kindle my hopes and my desire: While all the preachers of thy word Warn me t’ escape eternal fire.

Thy praise shall still employ my breath, Since thou hast mark’d my way to heaven, Nor will I run the road to death, And waste the blessings thou hast given.