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Introduction

Sometimes, a song feels like it was written to carry you straight into the arms of something greater than yourself, and How Great Thou Art is exactly that kind of masterpiece. Whether you’ve sung it in a quiet church or heard it performed in a grand concert hall, it’s a hymn that touches the soul with a power that feels eternal.

This song is more than just lyrics and melody—it’s a prayer, a declaration, and a celebration of awe. Inspired by a Swedish poem written in the 19th century by Carl Boberg, it found its way to music and evolved into the beloved hymn we know today. The imagery is breathtaking: the grandeur of the heavens, the might of storms, the stillness of forests—all reminders of the divine artistry that surrounds us.

What makes How Great Thou Art truly special is its universal reach. It’s been embraced by countless cultures and translated into numerous languages, each one adding its own flavor of reverence. Whether it’s sung in English, Swedish, or another tongue, the message is always the same: a profound acknowledgment of God’s greatness and the hope we find in that truth.

Elvis Presley famously brought the hymn to a wider audience, delivering it with the passion only he could bring. His rendition turned this humble hymn into a gospel anthem that still inspires today. And let’s not forget the countless church choirs, soloists, and ordinary people who’ve poured their hearts into it over the years.

When you hear or sing this hymn, it’s hard not to feel a lump in your throat or tears threatening to spill. It’s as if the song calls you to stop, look around, and remember just how vast and beautiful the world—and the Creator behind it—truly is

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Lyrics

O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder,
Consider all the worlds Thy Hands have made
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, How great Thou art
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, How great Thou art
When through the woods, and forest glades I wander,
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees
When I look down, from lofty mountain grandeur
And see the brook, and feel the gentle breeze
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, How great Thou art
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, How great Thou art
And when I think, that God, His Son not sparing;
Sent Him to die, I scarce can take it in
That on the Cross, my burden gladly bearing,
He bled and died to take away my sin
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, How great Thou art
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, How great Thou art
When Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation,
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart
Then I shall bow, in humble adoration,
And then proclaim My God, how great Thou art
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art
Then sings my soul, My Savior God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, How great Thou art

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THE HANDS THAT HELPED BUILD ALABAMA’S SOUND STARTED BETRAYING HIM YEARS BEFORE THE FINAL GOODBYE. JEFF COOK KEPT PLAYING AS LONG AS HE COULD. Jeff Cook was there before Alabama became a country machine. He was not hired into a finished legend. He helped build it from Fort Payne blood, family harmony, and the kind of stage work that came long before awards started stacking up. Randy Owen had the lead voice. Teddy Gentry had the bass and the bloodline. Jeff brought something restless and bright — guitar, fiddle, keyboards, mandolin, banjo, whatever the song needed. They were not just three men standing in front of studio players. They sounded like a band because they were one. Jeff’s instruments helped give Alabama its color — the fiddle lines, the guitar fire, the country-rock lift that made “Mountain Music,” “Tennessee River,” “Dixieland Delight,” and “If You’re Gonna Play in Texas” feel like they had been raised on both front porches and amplifiers. Then his body began turning against him. Jeff Cook was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in 2012. For years, most fans did not know. The band kept moving. The songs kept coming. The man who had spent his life making music with his hands was now fighting a disease that attacked movement, balance, coordination, and control. In 2017, he made it public. There was no dramatic speech that fixed anything. Parkinson’s does not care how many records a band has sold. It does not care how many fans know the words. It comes for the simple things first — the reach, the grip, the timing, the ease of doing what once felt natural. Jeff kept going as long as he could. By 2018, he stepped away from regular touring. Alabama continued with his blessing, but the shape had changed. The songs were still there. Randy and Teddy were still there. The crowds still sang. But one corner of the old triangle was missing from the nightly picture. That is the part fans felt without always saying it. A band can keep performing after illness changes the lineup, but it cannot pretend nothing changed. Jeff Cook had helped make Alabama’s sound feel like home for millions of people. When he could no longer stand inside that sound every night, the music carried a quieter ache. On November 7, 2022, Jeff died at his home in Destin, Florida. He was 73. The headlines said co-founder. Guitarist. Fiddler. Country Music Hall of Fame member. All true. But Alabama fans knew something simpler. The hands that once made the fiddle jump, the guitar ring, and the band feel whole had finally gone still.

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SEVEN YEARS AFTER LOSING HIS SON, CRAIG MORGAN WALKED BACK ONTO THE OPRY STAGE IN UNIFORM AND REJOINED THE ARMY AT 59. Craig Morgan had already spent seventeen years in the Army and Army Reserve before country music gave him another life. He had served with the 101st and 82nd Airborne Divisions. He had been a staff sergeant, a fire support specialist, a paratrooper, and a man who understood service long before he understood red carpets. Then came the records, the Opry membership, the tours, and the songs that made him a familiar voice on country radio. He had left military service three years short of twenty. Then July 29, 2023 came. Morgan walked onto the Grand Ole Opry stage in uniform. The crowd thought they were there for another country show. Instead, officers followed him out. Before a sold-out room, Craig Morgan raised his hand and was sworn back into the U.S. Army Reserve. He was fifty-nine. The process had not been symbolic. He needed a waiver. He had to pass physical tests. He had to prove that the singer people knew from “That’s What I Love About Sunday” and “Redneck Yacht Club” could still meet the standards required of a soldier. The Opry made the moment heavier. It was one of the last places he had spent time with his son Jerry before the boy drowned in 2016. Craig later said that after losing Jerry, every place carried a different meaning. The stage was no longer just a stage. It was a room filled with memory. Then Morgan sang “Soldier.” He was not returning because country music had failed him. He was returning because a part of his life had never felt finished.

THE HANDS THAT HELPED BUILD ALABAMA’S SOUND STARTED BETRAYING HIM YEARS BEFORE THE FINAL GOODBYE. JEFF COOK KEPT PLAYING AS LONG AS HE COULD. Jeff Cook was there before Alabama became a country machine. He was not hired into a finished legend. He helped build it from Fort Payne blood, family harmony, and the kind of stage work that came long before awards started stacking up. Randy Owen had the lead voice. Teddy Gentry had the bass and the bloodline. Jeff brought something restless and bright — guitar, fiddle, keyboards, mandolin, banjo, whatever the song needed. They were not just three men standing in front of studio players. They sounded like a band because they were one. Jeff’s instruments helped give Alabama its color — the fiddle lines, the guitar fire, the country-rock lift that made “Mountain Music,” “Tennessee River,” “Dixieland Delight,” and “If You’re Gonna Play in Texas” feel like they had been raised on both front porches and amplifiers. Then his body began turning against him. Jeff Cook was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in 2012. For years, most fans did not know. The band kept moving. The songs kept coming. The man who had spent his life making music with his hands was now fighting a disease that attacked movement, balance, coordination, and control. In 2017, he made it public. There was no dramatic speech that fixed anything. Parkinson’s does not care how many records a band has sold. It does not care how many fans know the words. It comes for the simple things first — the reach, the grip, the timing, the ease of doing what once felt natural. Jeff kept going as long as he could. By 2018, he stepped away from regular touring. Alabama continued with his blessing, but the shape had changed. The songs were still there. Randy and Teddy were still there. The crowds still sang. But one corner of the old triangle was missing from the nightly picture. That is the part fans felt without always saying it. A band can keep performing after illness changes the lineup, but it cannot pretend nothing changed. Jeff Cook had helped make Alabama’s sound feel like home for millions of people. When he could no longer stand inside that sound every night, the music carried a quieter ache. On November 7, 2022, Jeff died at his home in Destin, Florida. He was 73. The headlines said co-founder. Guitarist. Fiddler. Country Music Hall of Fame member. All true. But Alabama fans knew something simpler. The hands that once made the fiddle jump, the guitar ring, and the band feel whole had finally gone still.

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