1 Praise ye the Lord, immortal choir,
That fill the realms above;
Praise him who form'd you of his fire
And feeds you with his love.
Shine to his praise ye crystal skies,
The floor of his abode;
O veil in shades your thousand eyes;
Before your brighter God.
2 Thou restless globe of golden light,
Whose beams create our days,
Join with the silver queen of night,
To own your borrowed rays.
Winds, ye shall bear his name aloud,
Thro' the eternal blue;
For when his chariot is a cloud,
He makes his wheels of you.
3 Thunder and hail, and fire and storms,
The troops of his command,
Appear in all your dreadful forms,
And speak his awful hand.
Wave your tall heads ye lofty pines,
To him that bids you grow;
Sweet clusters bend the fruitfull vines,
On ev'ry thankful bough.