Praise ye the Lord! ’tis good to raise
Our hearts and voices in His praise;
His nature and His works unite
To make this effort our delight.
He formed the stars, those heavenly flames;
He counts their numbers, calls their names;
His wisdom’s vast, and knows no bound,
A deep where all our thoughts are drowned.
Sing to the Lord, extol Him high,
Who spreads the clouds around the sky;
There He prepares the fruitful rain,
Nor lets the drops descend in vain.
He makes the grass the hills adorn,
And clothes the smiling fields with corn;
The beasts with food His hands supply,
And the young ravens when they cry.
But saints are lovely in His sight;
He views His children with delight;
He sees their hope, He knows their fear;
And looks, and loves His image there.