Author: Isaac Watts, 1674-1748 Hymnal: SPH1787 #VII (1787) First Line: My soul, thy great Creator praise Lyrics: I My soul, thy great Creator praise:
When cloth'd in his celestial rays
He in full majesty appears
And, like a robe, his glory wears.
[Note: This Psalm may be sung to the tune of the Old 1125h or 1275h Psalm, by adding these lines to every stanza, viz.
Great is the Lord; what tongue can frame
An equal honour to his name?
[Otherwise it must be sung as the 100th Psalm]
II The heav'ns are for his curtains spread,
Th' unfathomed deep he makes his bed;
Clouds are his chariot when he flies
On winged storms across the skies.
III Angels, whom his own breath inspires,
His ministers, are flaming fires:
And swift as thought their armies move
To bear his vengeance or his love.
IV The world's foundations by his hand
Are pois'd, and shall for ever stand;
He binds the ocean in his chain,
Lest it should drown the earth again.
V When earth was cover'd with the flood,
Which high above the mountains stood,
He thunder'd, and the ocean fled,
Confin'd to its appointed bed.
VI The swelling billows know their bound,
And in their channels walk their round;
Yet thence convey'd by secret veins,
They spring on hills and drench the plains.
VII He bids the chrystal fountains flow,
And cheer the vallies as they go;
Tame heifers there their thirst allay,
And for the stream wild asses bray.
VIII From pleasant trees which shade the brink,
The lark and linnet light to drink
Their songs the lark and linnet raise,
And chide our silence in his praise.
Pause I
IX God, from his cloudy cistern pours
On the parch'd earth enriching show'rs:
The grove, the garden, and the field,
A thousand joyful blessings yield.
X He makes the grassy food arise,
And gives the cattle large supplies:
With herbs for man of various pow'r,
To nourish nature or to cure.
XI What noble fruit the vines produce!
The olive yields a shining juice;
Our hearts are cheer'd with gen'rous wine,
With inward joy our faces shine.
XII O bless his name, ye people, fed
With nature's chief supporter, bread:
While bread your vital strength imparts,
Serve him with vigour in your hearts.
Pause II
XIII Behold the stately cedar stands,
Rais'd in the forest by his hands;
Birds to the boughs for shelter fly,
And build their nests secure on high.
XIV To craggy hills ascends the goat;
And at the airy mountain's foot
The feebler creatures make their cell:
He gives them wisdom where to dwell.
XV He sets the sun his circling race;
Appoints the moon to change her face:
And when thick darkness veils the day,
Calls out wild beasts to hunt their prey.
XVI Fierce lions lead their young abroad,
And, roaring, ask their meat from God;
But when the morning beams arise,
The savage beast to covert flies.
XVII Then man to daily labor goes;
The night was made for his repose;
Sleep is thy gift, that sweet relief
From tiresome toil and wasting grief.
XVIII How strange thy works! how great thy skill!
And ev'ry land thy riches fill:
Thy wisdom round the world we see;
This spacious earth is full of thee.
XIX Nor less thy glories in the deep,
Where fish in millions swim and creep
With wond'rous motions, swift or slow,
Still wand'ring in the paths below.
XX There ships divide their wat'ry way,
And flocks of scaly monsters play;
There dwells the huge leviathan,
And foams and sports in spite of man.
Pause III
XXI Vast are thy works, almighty Lord,
All nature rests upon thy word;
And the whole race of creatures stands,
Waiting their portion from thy hands.
XXII While each receives his diff'rent food,
Their cheerful looks pronounce it good:
Eagles and bears, and whales and worms,
Rejoice and praise in diff'rent forms.
XIII But when thy face is hid, they mourn,
And, dying, to their dust return;
Both man and beast their souls resign:
Life, breath, and spirit, all is thine.
XXIV Yet thou canst breathe on dust again,
And fill the world with beasts and men;
A word of thy creating breath
Repairs the wastes of time and death.
XXV His works, the wonders of his might,
Are honour'd with his own delight:
How awful are his glorious ways!
The Lord is dreadful in his praise.
XXVI The earth stands trembling at thy stroke,
And at thy touch the mountains smoke;
Yet humble souls may see thy face,
And tell their wants to sov'reign grace.
XXVII In thee my hopes and wishes meet,
And make my meditations sweet;
Thy praises shall my breath employ,
Till it expire in endless joy.
XXVIII While haughty sinners die accurst,
Their glory bury'd with their dust,
I to my God, my heav'nly King,
Immortal hallelujahs sing.
Languages: English
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