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Abounding Compassion of God; or, Mercy in te Midst of Judgmet

Hymnal: Psalms #103d (1793) First Line: My soul, repeat His praise Lyrics: 1 My soul, repeat his praise, Whose mercies are so great; Whose anger is so slow to rise, So ready to abate. 2 God will not always chide; And when his strokes are felt, His strokes are fewer than our crimes, And lighter than our guilt. 3 High as the heav'ns are rais'd Above the ground we tread, So far the riches of his grace Our highest thoughts exceed. 4 His power subdues our sins, And his forgiving love, Far as the east is from the west, Doth all our guilt remove. 5 The pity of the Lord To those that fear his name, Is such as tender parents feel; He knows our feeble frame. 6 He knows we are but dust, Scatter'd with ev'ry breath: His anger like a rising wind Can send us swift to death. 7 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. 8 But thy compassions, Lord, To endless years endure; And children's children ever find Thy words of promise sure. Scripture: Psalm 103:8-18 Languages: English

Abounding Compassion of God; or Mercy in the Midst of Judgment

Hymnal: The Psalms of David #185 (1740) First Line: My Soul, repeat his Praise Lyrics: 1 My Soul, repeat his Praise, Whose Mercies are so great; Whose Anger is so slow to rise, So ready to abate. 2 GOD will not always chide; And when his Strokes are felt, His Strokes are fewer than our Crimes, And lighter than our Guilt. 3 High as the Heav'ns are raised Above the Ground we tread, So far the Riches of his Grace Our highest Thoughts exceed. 4 His Pow'r subdues our sins, And his forgiving Love Far as the East is from the West Doth all our Guilt remove. 5 The Pity of the Lord, To those that fear his Name, Is such as tender Parents feel; He knows our feeble Frame. 6 He knows we are but Dust, Scatter'd with every Breath; His Anger, like a rising Wind, Can send us swift to Death. 7 Our Days are as the Grass, Or like the Morning Flow'r; If one sharp Blast sweep o'er the Field It withers in an Hour. 8 But thy Compassion, Lord, To endless Years endure; And Children's Children ever find Thy Words of Promise sure. Topics: Afflicted gentle; Angels praise the Lord; Compassion of God; God his universal dominion; God mercy and truth; Goodness of God; Mercies common and special; Mercies spiritual and temporal Scripture: Psalm 103:8-18 Languages: English

Abounding compassion of God; or, Mercy in the midst of judgment

Hymnal: Psalms, carefully suited to the Christian worship in the United States of America #211 (1791) First Line: My soul repeat his praise Lyrics: 1 My soul, repeat his praise, Whose mercies are so great; Whose anger is so slow to rise, So ready to abate. 2 God will not always chide; And when his strokes are felt, His strokes are fewer than our crimes, And lighter than our guilt. 3 High as the heav'ns are rais'd Above the ground we tread, So far the riches of his grace Our highest thoughts exceed. 4 His power subdues our sins, And his forgiving love Far as the east is from the west; Doth all our guilt remove. 5 The pity of the Lord To those that fear his name, Is such as tender parents feel – He knows our feeble frame. 6 He knows we are but dust, Scatter'd with every breath: His anger like a rising wind Can send us swift to death. 7 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. 8 But thy compassions, Lord, To endless years endure; And children's children ever find Thy words of promise sure. Scripture: Psalm 103:8-18 Languages: English