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| Text: | Trusting in God |
1 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.
2 Why should I make a man my trust?
Princes may 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.
3 Happy the man whose hopes rely
On Israel's God, he made the sky,
And earth and sea, with all their train,
His truth for ever stands secure:
He saves the oppress;d he feeds the poor,
And none shall find his promise vain.
4 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.
| Text Information | |
|---|---|
| First Line: | I'll praise my Maker with my breath |
| Title: | Trusting in God |
| Meter: | P. M. 6 of 8 |
| Language: | English |
| Publication Date: | 1790 |
| Scripture: | |
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