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Our thanks we bring In joy and praise, Our hearts we raise To heaven's high King.
2 The nation Thou hast blest,
May well Thy love declare,
For this bright day,
4 Earth! hear thy Maker's voice,
Thy great Redeemer own;
Thy sin deplore,
3 May every mountain height,
Each vale and forest green, Shine in Thy word's pure light, And its rich fruits be seen! May every tongue
Be tuned to praise,
A grateful song.
5 And when in power He comes,
( may our native land,
Ever to sing
Forsake me not, my God!
That evermore I may
May never be forgot
My God, forsake me not!
Confirm me mightily
Cleansed from all stain and spot
We are naught, Sin hath brought, Lord, Thy wrath up
2 Show me now a Father's love,
And His tender patience, Heal my wounded soul, remove These too sore temptations;
I ain weak,
Weary with my sorrow,
Why wilt Thou
Tarry now? Wilt Thou friendless leave me And of hope bereave me?
5 Father, hymns to Thee we raise,
Here and once in heaven; And the Son and Spirit praise, Who our bonds have riven!
And whose pity heard us.
German, 16th Century
A - las, my God! my sins are great, My conscience doth up-braid me;
And now I find that at my strait No man hath power to
2 And fled I hence, in my despair, Here spare me not; if heaven I win, In some lone spot to hide me,
On earth I gladly suffer. My griefs would still be with me there, 5 But curb my heart, forgive my guilt,
Thy hand still hold and guide me. Make Thou my patience firmer, 3 Nay, Thee I seek;-I merit naught, For they must miss the good Thou wilt, Yet pity and restore me;
Who at Thy teachings murmur. Be not Thy wrath, just God, my lot, 6 Then deal with me as seems Thee best, Thy Son hath suffered for me.
Thy grace will help me bear it, 4 If pain and woe must follow sin, If but at last I see Thy rest, Then be my path still rougher;
And with my Savior share it.
J. Gross, 1613 8, 7. 4L.
German, 16th Century
las, my God! my sins are great, My conscience doth up - braid me; And
now I find that
at my strait
No man hath power to
Louis Bourgeois, 1547
2 Then this our comfort is alone,
That we may meet before Thy throne,
For rescue from our misery:
Repenting sore with bitter sighs,
And respite from our griefs within.
To hear all those who cry to Thee,
Our Savior and our advocate.
And all our woes before Thee lay;
Peril and foes on every hand.
Absolve us through Thy boundless grace;
Free us at last from every ill.