1 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,
To make this duty our delight.

2 He form'd the stars those heavenly flames,
He counts their numbers calls their name,
His wisdom's vast, and knows no bounds,
A deep, where all our thoughts are drown'd,
A deep, where all our thoughts are drown'd.

3 Sing to the Lord exalt him high,
Who spreads his clouds around the sky.
There he prepares the fruitful rain,
Nor lets the drops descend in vain,
Nor lets the drops descend in vain.

4 He makes the grass the hills adorn,
And cloths the smiling fields with corn;
The beasts with feed his hands supply,
And the young ravens when they cry,
And the young ravens when they cry.

5 What is the creatures skill or force,
The sprightly man or warlike horse?
The piercing wit, the active limb,
All are too mean delights for him,
All are too mean delights for him.