Let ev­ery tongue Thy good­ness speak,
Thou so­ve­reign Lord of all;
Thy strength­en­ing 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 tot­ter­ing 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 ful­fill,
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 rise
The hon­ors of their God.