O sing ye hal­le­lu­jah!
’Tis good our God to praise.
’Tis plea­sant and be­com­ing
To Him our songs to raise;
He builds the walls of Zi­on,
He seeks her wan­der­ing sons;
He binds their wounds and com­forts
The brok­en­heart­ed ones.

The star­ry hosts He num­bers,
He calls them all by name;
His great­ness and His wis­dom
His won­drous works pro­claim;
The meek He lifts to hon­or,
He hum­bles sin­ful pride.
Give thanks to Him and ut­ter
His prais­es far and wide.

The heav’ns with clouds He co­vers,
He sends the cheer­ing rain;
The slopes of all the mount­ains
He fills with grass and grain;
To beast and bird His good­ness
Their dai­ly food sup­plies;
He cares for all His crea­tures,
Attentive to their cries.

No hu­man pow­er de­lights Him,
No earth­ly pomp or pride;
He loves the meek who fear Him
And in His love con­fide;
Then praise thy God, O Zion,
His gra­cious aid con­fess;
He gives thee peace and plen­ty,
His gifts thy child­ren bless.

He sends His swift com­mand­ment,
And snow and ice en­fold
The world, and none are able
To stand be­fore His cold.
Again He gives com­mand­ment:
The winds of sum­mer blow,
The snow and ice are melt­ed,
Again the wa­ters flow.

His sta­tutes and His judg­ments
He makes His peo­ple know;
To them as to no oth­ers
His grace He loves to show;
For match­less grace and mer­cy
Your grate­ful prais­es bring;
To give Him thanks for­ev­er
And hal­le­lu­jah sing.