1 I'll praise my maker with my breath,
And when my voice is lost in death,
Praise shall employ my nobler pow'rs;
My days of praise shall ne'er be past,
While life, and thought, and being last,
Or immortality endures.
2 Why should I make a man my trust?
Princes must die and turn to dust:
Vain is the help of flesh and blood;
Their breath departs, their pomp and pow'r,
And thoughts all vanish in an hour;
Nor can they make their promise good.
3 Happy the man whose hopes rely
On Isr'el's God: he made the sky,
And earth, and seas, with all their train;
His truth for ever stands secure;
He saves th' opprest, he feeds the poor;
And none shall find his promise vain.
4 The Lord hath eyes to give the blind;
The Lord supports the sinking mind;
He sends the lab'ring conscience peace;
He helps the stranger in distress,
The widow and the fatherless,
And grants the pris'ner sweet release.
5 He loves his saints, he knows them well,
But turns the wicked down to hell;
Thy God, O Zion, ever reigns!
Let every tongue, let ev'ry age,
In this exalted work engage;
Praise him in everlasting strains.
6 I'll praise him while he lends me breath;
And when my voice is lost in death,
Praise shall employ my nobler pow'rs:
My days of praise shall ne'er be past,
While life, and thought and being last,
Or immortality endures.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | I'll praise my maker with my breath |
Meter: | As the 113th Psalm |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1790 |
Scripture: |