1. My soul repeat His praise,
Whose mercies are so great,
Whose anger is so slow to rise,
So ready to abate.
2. High as the heav’ns are raised,
Above the ground we tread,
So far the riches of His grace,
Our highest thoughts exceed.
3. His pow’r subdues our sins,
And His forgiving love,
Far as the east is from the west,
Doth all our guilt remove.
|First Line:||My soul repeat His praise|
|Author:||Isaac Watts (1719)|