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 heav'ns are raised
Above the ground we tread,
So far the riches of His grace
Our highest thoughts exceed.

3 His grace 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 sweep 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.

Amen.