Now let the firstfruits of our days

Be sacred to the Saviour's praise;

The pleasure of His work is more

Than earth can bring from all its store.

Early beneath His yoke to be

Is better far than vanity;

The paths of wisdom yield each day

The peace that passeth not away.

Oh! that my youth were wholly spent

Beneath His yoke in calm content:

For He who bought me on the tree

Owns every hour of life from me.