Text: | My soul, repeat his praise |
Author: | Watts |
1 My soul, repeat his praise,
Whose mercies are so great;
Whose anger is so slow to rise,
So ready to abate.
2 High as the heavens are raised
Above the ground we treat;
So far the riches of his grace
Our highest thoughts exceed.
3 His power subdues our sins,
And his forgiving love,
Far as the east is from the west,
Doth all our guilt remove.
4 The pity of the Lord,
To those who fear his name,
Is such as tender parents feel;
He knows our feeble frame.
5 Our days are as the grass,
Or like the morning flower;
If one sharp blast sweeps o'er the field,
It withers in an hour.
6 But thy compassions, Lord,
To endless years endure;
And children's children ever find
Thy words of promise sure.
Text Information | |
---|---|
First Line: | My soul, repeat his praise |
Author: | Watts |
Meter: | S. M. |
Publication Date: | 1873 |
Scripture: | ; ; ; |
Topic: | General Praise; Mercy in the Midst of Judgment |