Let every tongue thy goodness speak,
Thou sovereign Lord of all;
Thy strength'ning hands uphold the weak,
And raise the poor that fall.

When sorrow bows the spirit down,
Or virtue lies distressed
Beneath some proud oppressor's frown,
Thou giv'st the mourners rest.

The Lord supports our tott'ring days,
And guides our giddy youth;
Holy and just are all his ways,
And all his words are truth.

He knows the pains his servants feel,
He hears his children cry,
And their best wishes to fulfil,
His grace is ever nigh.

His mercy never shall remove
From men of heart sincere;
He saves the souls whose humble love
Is joined with holy fear.

[His stubborn foes his sword shall slay,
And pierce their hearts with pain
But none that serve the Lord shall say,
"They sought his aid in vain."]

[My lips shall dwell upon his praise,
And spread his fame abroad;
Let all the sons of Adam raise
The honors of their God.]