How many are the songs to sing Of how your nature’s beauty rings? Already many have been sung The bells of beauty have been rung. Yet all the beauty that I see Is but a shadow cast by thee. This finite earth and space above Are darkened spots cast by your love. The trees, the plains, the mountains grand Are naught compared to your strong hand. The leaf, the grass, the flower small Are hints of new life for us all. But songs of beauty that are near Turn quickly old—that’s what I fear. That even though these songs are true, They’re old, for they sing not of you. They sing not of your sacrifice And how you rescue men from vice. They sing not of eternal God Nor how you help men through life plod, Nor the Spirit’s holy fire Lifting lowly souls up higher. They only sing of nature’s ways But not you of the ancient days. The songs you want my voice to lift Are of your great salvation gift, New songs of how you make men pure And of your steadfast love that’s sure, New songs with words of righteousness And songs that sing of holiness. Lord, help me sing eternal verse Before all men your love rehearse.