1 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.

2 'Tis to thy soveraign grace I owe,
That I was born on Brittish ground,
Where streams of heavenly mercy flow,
And words of sweet salvation sound.

3 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.

4 How do I pity those that dwell
Where ignorance and darkness reigns;
They know no heav'n, they fear no hell,
Those endless joys, those endless pains.

5 Thy glorious promises, O Lord,
Kindle my hope and my desire;
While all the preachers of thy word
Warn me t' escape eternal fire.

6 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 wast the blessings thou hast given.