He Waters the Hills

He wa­ters the hills

With rain from the skies

And plen­ti­ful grass

And herbs He sup­plies

Supplying the cat­tle

And bless­ing man’s toil

With bread in abun­dance

With wine and with oil.

The trees which the Lord

Has plant­ed are fed

And ov­er the earth

Their branches are spread;

They keep in their shel­ter

The birds of the air

The life of each crea­ture

The Lord makes His care.

The sea­sons are fixed

By wis­dom di­vine

The slow chang­ing moon

Shows forth God’s de­sign;

The sun in his cir­cuit

His mak­er ob­eys

And run­ning his jour­ney

Hastes not nor de­lays.

The Lord makes the night

When leav­ing their lair

The li­ons creep forth

God’s boun­ty to share;

The Lord makes the morn­ing

When beasts steal away

And men are be­gin­ning

The work of the day.

How ma­ny and wise

Thy works are

O Lord!

The earth with the wealth

Of wis­dom is stored;

The sea bears in safe­ty

The ships to and fro

And crea­tures un­num­bered

It shel­ters be­low.

The crea­tures all look

To Thee for their food;

Thy hands op­en wide

They gather the good;

Thy face Thou con­ceal­est

In ang­uish they yearn;

Their breath Thou with­hold­est

To dust they re­turn.