Hymns And Odes For Temperance Occasions Xiii Poem by John Pierpont

This day, O God, thy blessed hand
Hath thrown wide open all thy stores,
And filled with bounty every land,
The sea, and all its sounding shores.


Beast, bird, fish, insect, hast thou fed
With fish or flesh, with grass or grain;-
For man a table hast thou spread
From field, flood, air, or roaring main.


But, for all things o'er earth that move,
In air or ocean soar or sink,
One thing hath thine unbounded love,
And only one, prepared for drink.


'T is water! In the living spring
It gusheth up to meet our lip;
In brooks we hear it murmuring,
From mossy rocks we see it drip.


It filleth Health and Beauty's cup,
And wrath and sorrow doth it drown,
As from our wells it cometh up,
As from thy clouds it cometh down.


For the cool water we have quaffed,
Source of all good! we owe thee much;
Our lips have touched no burning draught
This day, nor shall they ever touch.


When we retire to our repose,
And Night's dark curtains round us draw,
O guard us, as thou guardest those
Who trust thy care, and keep thy law!