Words: , Hym­ni Sac­ri, 1736 (Ju­bes: et, in prae­ceps aq­uis); tran­slat­ed from La­tin to Eng­lish by (The Word Is Giv­en, the Wat­ers Flow) and the com­pil­ers of Hymns An­cient and Mo­dern.

Music: Lin­coln, , The Whole Booke of Psalmes (Lon­don: 1621).


Thou spakest, Lord, and into one
The floods together flowed;
Freed from its watery veil, the land
Its verdant pastures showed.

O Father, who the earth has given
Our place of toil to be,
Knit all within its one wide bound
In one true charity.

Strangers and pilgrims here below,
We seek a home above,
Where Thou wilt gather in Thine own
Who live in holy love.

Unloving words, with deeds of ill
And words of angry strife,
Shall never, Lord, Thy glory see,
Nor win the heavenly life.

The earth itself from day to day
Their burden scarce sustains,
And yearns, in travail, to be free
From dark corruption’s chains.

Yea, we too groan within ourselves,
And that adoption wait
For which the Holy Spirit’s seal
Did us predestinate.

Eternal glory be ascribed
To God, the One in Three,
By Whom is poured into our hearts
The grace of charity.