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Almighty King! whose wond'rous hand Supports the weight of sea and land; Whose grace is such a boundless store, No heart shall break that sighs for more; Thy Providence supplies my food, And 'tis thy blessing makes it good; My soul is nourish'd by thy word, Let soul and body praise the LORD. My streams of outward comfort came From him, who built this earthly frame; Whate'er I want his bounty gives, By whom my soul for ever lives. Either his hand preserves from pain, Or, if I feel it, heals again; From Satan's malice shields my breast, Or overrules it for the best. Forgive the song that falls so low Beneath the gratitude I owe! It means thy praise, however poor, An angel's song can do no more.

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