Hymn Book ‎#99

99. My soul, repeat His praise

1 My soul, repeat His praise,
Whose mercies are so great;
Whose anger is so slow to raise,
So ready to abate.

2 God will not always chide;
And, when His wrath is felt,
His strokes are fewer than our crimes,
And lighter than our guilt.

3 High as the heavens are raised
Above the ground we tread,
So far the riches of His grace
Our highest thoughts exceed.

4 His power subdues our sins;
And His forgiving love,
Far as the east is from the west,
Doth all our guilt remove.

5 The pity of the Lord
To those that fear His name
Is such as tender parents feel;
He knows our feeble frame.

6 Our days are as the grass,
Or like the morning flower;
If one sharp blast sweep o'er the field,
It withers in an hour.

7 But Thy compassions, Lord,
To endless years endure;
And children's children ever find
Thy words of promise sure.

Text Information

• First Line: My soul, repeat His praise
• Author: Watts
• Language: English
• Publication Date: 1884
• Topic: Praise and Thanksgiving

Tune Information

(No tune information)