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.
Clouds that drop refreshing dews;
Suns that genial heat diffuse;
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 liberal autumn pours
From her overflowing stores.
These, great God to Thee we owe,
Source whence all our blessings flow;
And for these our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise.
As long as I can remember, this hymn has been sung a cappella, and from memory at every family gathering on my Dad's side of the family. This was my Grandpa's favorite song, and I can still picture him the last few times we were together, sitting in his chair, with a smile on his face as we all sang!
Wishing you all a wonderful Thanksgiving!