I I'll praise my maker with my breath;
And when my voice is lost in death
Praise shall employ my nobler pow'rs:
My days of praise shall ne'er be past,
While life, and thought, and being last,
Or immortality endures.
II Why should I make a man my trust?
Princes must die and turn to dust:
Vain is the help of flesh and blood:
Their breath departs, their pomp and pow'r,
And thoughts, all vanish in an hour,
Nor can they make their promise good.
III Happy the man whose hopes rely
On Isra'l's God: he made the sky,
And earth and seas with all their train:
His truth forever stands secure;
He saves th' opprest, he feeds the poor,
And none shall find his promise vain.
IV The Lord hath eyes to give the blind;
The Lord supports the sinking mind;
He sends the lab'ring conscience peace,
He helps the stranger in distress,
The widow and the fatherless,
And grants the pris'ner sweet release.
V He loves his saints, he knows them well,
But turns the wicked down to hell;
Thy God, O Zion, ever reigns:
Let ev'ry tongue, let ev'ry age
In this exalted work engage;
Praise him in everlasting strains.
IV I'll praise him while he lends me breath,
And when my voice is lost in death
Praise shall employ my nobler pow'rs:
My days of praise shall ne'er be past,
While life, and thought, and being last,
Or immortality endures.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | I'll praise my maker with my breath |
Title: | Praise to God for his goodness and truth |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1787 |
Notes: | Now Public Domain. |