Ordinary Time // Part 2 // Week 7 // Oct. 16-22

Praise to God, immortal praise,
For the love that crowns our days
Bounteous Source of every joy,
Let thy praise our tongues employ
For the blessings of the field,
For the stores the gardens yield
For the joy which harvests bring,
Grateful praises now we sing

Flocks that whiten all the plain,
Yellow sheaves of ripened grain
All that spring with bounteous hand,
Scatters o’er the smiling land
All that gen’rous autumn pours,
From her overflowing stores
These, great God, to thee we owe,
Source whence all our blessings flow

But Lord, should rising whirlwinds tear,
From the stem it’s ripening ear
Should the fig tree’s bloss’ming shoot,
Drop her green untimely fruit
Should the vine put forth no more,
Nor the olive yield her store
Though the sick’ning flocks should fall,
And the herds desert the stall
Should thy holy hand restrain,
Th’early and the latter rain
Blast each op’ning bud of joy,
And the rising year destroy
Should the vine put forth no more,
Nor the olive yield her store
Should the rising whirlwinds come,
and tear the song from out our lungs

Yet to thee my soul shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise
And when every blessing’s flown
Love thee for thyself alone

Lyrics: Anna Barbauld, 1772 // Music: Greg Yoder, 2015 // Vocals: Ben Luna, Kristina Yoder, and Greg Yoder