How Rich Thy Bounty, King of Kings!

How rich Thy boun­ty

King of kings!

Thy fa­vors how di­vine!

The bless­ings which Thy Gos­pel brings

How splen­did­ly they shine!

Gold is but dross

and gems but toys

Should gold and gems com­pare;

How mean

when set against those joys

Thy poor­est serv­ants share!

Yet all these trea­sures of Thy grace

Are lodged in urns of clay;

And the weak sons of mor­tal race

Th’immortal gifts con­vey.

Feebly they lisp Thy glo­ries forth;

Yet grace the vic­to­ry gives;

Quickly they mol­der back to earth

Yet still Thy Gos­pel lives.

Such won­ders pow­er di­vine ef­fects;

Such tro­phies God can raise;

His hand from crum­bling dust erects

His mo­nu­ments of praise.