1 Praise ye the Lord; for it is good
praise to our God to sing:
for it is pleasant, and to praise
is a becoming thing.
2 The Lord builds up Jerusalem,
and he it is alone
that the dispersed of Israel
doth gather into one.
3 Those that are broken in their heart
and grieved in their minds,
he healeth, and their painful wounds
he tenderly up-binds.
4 He counts the number of the stars;
he names them every one.
5 Great is our Lord, and of great power;
his wisdom search can none.
6 The Lord lifts up the meek; and casts
the wicked to the ground.
7 Sing to the Lord, and give him thanks;
on harp his praises sound;
8 who covereth the heaven with clouds,
prepareth rain, who maketh grass
upon the mountains grow.
9 He gives the beast his food, he feeds
the ravens young that cry.
10 His pleasure not in horses’ strength,
nor in man’s legs doth lie.
11 But in all those that do him fear
the Lord doth pleasure take;
in those that to his mercy do
in hope themselves betake.
12 The Lord praise, O Jerusalem;
Zion, thy God confess:
13 for thy gates’ bars he maketh strong;
thy sons in thee doth bless.
14 He in thy borders maketh peace;
with fine wheat filleth thee.
15 He sends forth his command on earth,
his word runs speedily.
16 Hoar-frost, like ashes, scattereth he;
like wool he snow doth give:
17 like morsels casteth forth his ice;
who in its cold can live?
18 He sendeth forth his mighty word,
and melteth them again;
his wind he makes to blow, and then
the waters flow amain.
19 The doctrine of his holy word
to Jacob he doth show;
his statutes and his judgments he
gives Israel to know.
20 Of other nations unto none
such favour shown hath he;
And they his judgments have not known.
Praise to the Lord give ye.
Source: The Irish Presbyterian Hymbook #P147a