My soul, now praise thy mak­er!
Let all with­in me bless His name
Who mak­eth thee par­tak­er
Of mer­cies more than thou dar’st claim.
Forget Him not whose meek­ness
Still bears with all thy sin,
Who heal­eth all thy weak­ness,
Renews thy life with­in.
Whose grace and care are end­less
And saved thee thro’ the past;
Who leaves no suf­fer­er friend­less,
But rights the wronged at last.

He shows to man His trea­sure
Of judg­ment, truth, and right­eous­ness,
His love be­yond all mea­sure,
His yearn­ing pi­ty o’er dis­tress,
Nor treats us as we mer­it,
But lays His an­ger by.
The hum­ble, con­trite spirit
Finds His com­pass­ion nigh;
And high as Heav’n above us,
As break from close of day,
So far, since He doth love us,
He puts our sins away.

For as a ten­der fa­ther
Hath pi­ty on his child­ren here,
He in His arms will ga­ther
All who are His in child­like fear.
He knows how frail our pow­ers
Who but from dust are made;
We flour­ish like the flow­ers,
And ev­en so we fade;
The wind but o’er them pass­es,
And all their bloom is o’er—
We wi­ther like the grass­es,
Our place knows us no more.

God’s grace alone en­dur­eth,
And child­ren’s child­ren yet shall prove
How He with strength as­sur­eth
The hearts of all that seek His love.
In Heav’n is fixed His dwell­ing,
His rule is ov­er all;
Angels, in might ex­cel­ling,
Bright hosts, be­fore Him fall.
Praise Him who ev­er reign­eth,
All ye who hear His Word,
Nor our poor hymns dis­dain­eth—
My soul, O praise the Lord!