To God Who Makes All Lovely Things


To God who makes all lovely things
How happy must our praises be!
Each day a new surprise he brings,
To make us glad is world to see.

How plentiful must be the mines
From which he gives his gold away;
In March he gives us celandines,
he gives buttercups in May.

He grows the wheat and never stops;
There’s none can count the blades of green;
And up among the elm-tree tops
As many thousand leaves are seen.

And when the wheat is bound in sheaves
He sends his wind among the trees,
And down come all the merry leaves
In yellow-twinkling companies.

On winter nights his quiet flakes
Come falling, falling all the night,
And when the world next morning wakes
It finds itself all shining white.

He makes the sea that shines afar
With waves that dance unceasingly;
And every single little star
That twinkles in the evening sky.

He made the people that I meet,
The many people great and small
In home and school, and down the street,
And he made me to love them all.