My Soul, Repeat His Praise

My soul, repeat His praise

Whose mercies are so great;

Whose anger is so slow to rise,

So ready to abate.

High as the heav'ns are raised

Above the ground we tread,

So far the riches of His grace

Our highest thoughts exceed.

His grace subdues our sins,

And His forgiving love

Far as the east is from the west

Doth all our guilt remove.

The pity of the Lord

To those who fear His name

Is such as tender parents feel;

He knows our feeble frame.

Our days are as the grass,

Or like the morning flower;

If one sharp blast sweep o'er the field,

It withers in an hour.

But Thy compassions, Lord,

To endless years endure;

And children's children ever find

Thy words of promise sure.

Amen.