I’ll bless the Lord from day to day;
How good are all His ways!
Ye hum­ble souls that use to pray,
Come, help my lips to praise.

Sing to the hon­or of His name,
How a poor suf­fer­er cried,
Nor was his hope ex­posed to shame,
Nor was his suit de­nied.

When threat­en­ing sor­rows round me stood,
And end­less fears arose,
Like the loud bil­lows of a flood,
Redoubling all my woes;

I told the Lord my sore dis­tress,
With hea­vy groans and tears;
He gave my sharp­est tor­ments ease,
And si­lenced all my fears.

O sin­ners, come and taste His love,
Come, learn His plea­sant ways;
And let your own ex­pe­ri­ence prove
The sweet­ness of His grace.

He bids His an­gels pitch their tents
Round where His child­ren dwell;
What ills their heav’n­ly care pre­vents
No earth­ly tongue can tell.

O love the Lord, ye saints of His;
His eye re­gards the just:
How rich­ly blest their por­tion is
Who make the Lord their trust!

Young li­ons, pinched with hun­ger, roar
And fam­ish in the wood;
But God sup­plies His ho­ly poor
With ev­ery need­ful good.