Begin, my soul, the lofty strain,
In solemn accents sing;
A sacred hymn of grateful praise,
To heav’n’s almighty King.

Bear it, ye winds, on all your wings,
To distant climes away,
And round the wide extended world
The lofty theme convey.

Take the glad burden of his name,
Ye clouds, as you arise,
Whether to deck the golden morn,
Or shade the evening skies.

Recordings 1 2 3