| Song | Praise To God Immortal Praise |
| Album | Thanksgiving and Harvest Hymns |
| Genre | Traditional Christian Hymns |
| Writer | Anna Barbauld |
| Publisher / Copyrights | |
| Translator | |
| Tags | Praise To God Immortal Praise |
| Theme(s) | |
| Scripture Reference(s) | |
| CCLI Song No |
Praise To God, Immortal Praise,
For The Love That Crowns Our Days;
Bounteous Source Of Every Joy,
Let Thy Praise Our Tongues Employ.
Flocks That Whiten All The Plain;
Yellow Sheaves Of Ripened Grain;
Clouds That Drop Their Fattening Dews,
Suns That Temperate Warmth Diffuse.
All That Spring With Bounteous Hand
Scatters Over The Smiling Land;
All That Liberal Autumn Pours
From Her Rich Overflowing Stores.
These To Thee, My God, We Owe,
Source Whence All Our Blessings Flow;
And For These My Soul Shall Raise
Grateful Vows And Solemn Praise.
Yet, Should Rising Whirlwinds Tear
From Its Stem The Ripening Ear;
Should The Fig Tree’s Blasted Shoot
Drop Her Green Untimely Fruit,
Should The Vine Put Forth No More,
Nor The Olive Yield Her Store;
Though The Sickening Flocks Should Fall,
And The Herds Desert The Stall,
Yet To Thee My Soul Shall Raise
Grateful Vows And Solemn Praise;
And, When Every Blessing’s Flown
Love Thee For Thyself Alone.
