I’ll Praise My Maker

I’ll praise my mak­er with my breath

And when my voice is lost in death

Praise shall em­ploy my nob­ler pow­ers;

My days of praise shall ne’er be past

While life and thought and be­ing last

Or im­mor­tal­ity en­dures.

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 pow­er

And thoughts all van­ish in an hour

Nor can they make their pro­mise good.

Happy the man whose hopes re­ly

On Is­ra­el’s God: He made the sky

And earth

and seas

with all their train:

His truth for ev­er stands se­cure;

He saves th’op­pressed

He feeds the poor

And none shall find His pro­mise vain.

The Lord has eyes to give the blind;

The Lord sup­ports the sink­ing mind;

He sends the la­bor­ing con­science peace;

He helps the strang­er in dis­tress

The wid­ow

and the fa­ther­less

And grants the pri­son­er sweet re­lease.

He loves His saints

He knows them well

But turns the wick­ed down to hell;

Thy God

O Zi­on

ev­er reigns:

Let ev­ery tongue

let ev­ery age

In this ex­alt­ed work en­gage;

Praise Him in ev­er­last­ing strains.

I’ll praise Him while He lends me breath

And when my voice is lost in death

Praise shall em­ploy my nob­ler pow­ers;

My days of praise shall ne’er be past

While life and thought and be­ing last

Or im­mor­tal­ity en­dures.