1 Praise ye the Lord, y' immortal choirs,
That fill the realms above;
Praise him who form'd you of his fires,
And feeds you with his love.
2 Shine to his praise, ye chrystal skies,
The floor of his abode;
Or veil in shades your thousand eyes,
Before your brighter God.
3 Thou restless globe of golden light,
Whose beams create our days,
Join with the silver queen of night,
To own your borrow'd rays.
4 Winds, ye shall bear his name aloud
Thro' the ethereal blue,
For when his chariot is a cloud,
He makes his wheels of you.
5 Thunder and hail, and fires and storms,
The troops of his command,
Appear in all your dreadful forms,
And speak his awful hand.
6 Shout to the Lord ye surging seas,
In your eternal roar;
Let wave to wave resound his praise,
And shore reply to shore.
7 While monsters sporting on the flood,
In scaly silver shine,
Speak terrible teir Maker God,
And lash the foaming brine.
8 But gentle things shall tune his name
To softer notes than these,
Young zephyrs breathing o'er the stream,
Or whisp'ring thro' the trees.
9 Wave your tall heads, ye lofty pines,
To him that bids you grow;
Sweet clusters bend the fruitful vines
On ev'ry thankful bough.
10 Let the shrill birds his honours raise,
And climb the morning sky;
While grov'ling beasts attempt his praise,
In hoarser harmony.
11 Thus while the meaner creatures sing,
Ye mortals, take the sound,
Echo the glories of your King
Thro' all the nations round.
Source: A Pocket Hymn Book: designed as a constant companion for the pious, collected from various authors (9th ed.) #CLX