Praise Ye the Lord, ’Tis Good to Raise

Praise ye the Lord; ’tis good to raise

Our hearts and voic­es in His praise;

His na­ture and His works in­vite

To make this du­ty our de­light.

The Lord builds up Je­ru­sa­lem

And ga­thers na­tions to His name;

His mer­cy melts the stub­born soul

And makes the brok­en spir­it whole.

He formed the stars

those heav’n­ly flames;

He counts their num­bers

calls their names;

His wis­dom’s vast

and knows no bound

A deep where all our thoughts are drowned.

Great is our Lord

and great His might;

And all His glo­ries in­fi­nite:

He crowns the meek

re­wards the just

And treads the wick­ed to the dust.

Sing to the Lord

ex­alt Him high

Who spreads His clouds all round the sky;

There He pre­pares the fruit­ful rain

Nor lets the drops des­cend in vain.

He makes the grass the hills ad­orn

And clothes the smil­ing fields with corn;

The beasts with food His hands sup­ply

And the young ra­vens when they cry.

What is the crea­ture’s skill or force

The spright­ly man

the war­like horse

The nim­ble wit

the ac­tive limb?

All are too mean de­lights for Him.

But saints are love­ly in His sight

He views His child­ren with de­light;

He sees their hope

He knows their fear

And looks

and loves His im­age there.