Metrical 'New Version' (Tate & Brady)
English text
My soul, inspir'd with sacred love,
God's holy name for ever bless;
Of all his favours mindful prove,
And still thy grateful thanks express.
'Tis he that all thy sins forgives,
And after sickness makes thee sound;
From danger he thy life retrieves,
By him with grace and mercy crown'd.
He with good things thy mouth supplies;
Thy vigour, eagle-like, renews:
He, when the guiltless suff'rer cries,
His foe with just revenge pursues.
God made of old his righteous ways
To Moses and our fathers known;
His works, to his eternal praise,
Were to the sons of Jacob shown.
The Lord abounds with tender love,
And unexampled acts of grace;
His waken'd wrath does slowly move,
His willing mercy flows apace.
God will not always harshly chide,
But with his anger quickly part;
And loves his punishments to guide
More by his love than our desert.
As high as heav'n its arch extends
Above this little spot of clay,
So much his boundless love transcends
The small respects that we can pay.
As far as 'tis from east to west,
So far has he our sins removed,
Who with a father's tender breast
Has such as fear him always lov'd.
For God, who all our frame surveys,
Considers that we are but clay;
How fresh soe'er we seem, our days
Like grass or flowers must fade away.
Whilst they are nipp'd with sudden blasts,
Nor can we find their former place;
God's faithful mercy ever lasts
To those that fear him, and their race.
This shall attend on such as still
Proceed in his appointed way;
And who not only know his will,
But to it just obedience pay.
The Lord, the universal King,
In heav'n has fix'd his lofty throne;,
To him, ye angels, praises sing,
In whose great strength his pow'r is shown.
Ye that his just commands obey,
And hear and do his sacred will,
Ye hosts of his, this tribute pay,
Who still what he ordains fulfil.
Let ev'ry creature jointly bless
The mighty Lord: and thou, my heart,
With grateful joy thy thanks express,
And in this concert bear thy part.
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Metrical Paraphrase by Isaac Watts
English text
PART 1-1. (L. M.)
Bless, O my soul, the living God,
Call home thy thoughts that rove abroad;
Let all the powers within me join
In work and worship so divine.
Bless, O my soul, the God of grace;
His favors claim thy highest praise:
Why should the wonders he hath wrought
Be lost in silence and forgot?
'Tis he, my soul, that sent his Son
To die for crimes which thou hast done;
He owns the ransom, and forgives
The hourly follies of our lives.
The vices of the mind he heals,
And cures the pains that nature feels
Redeems the soul from hell, and saves
Our wasting life from threatening graves.
Our youth decayed, his power repairs;
His mercy crowns our growing years;
He satisfies our mouth with good,
And fills our hopes with heavenly food.
He sees the oppressor and the oppressed,
And often gives the sufferers rest;
But will his justice more display
In the last great rewarding day.
His power he showed by Moses' hands,
And gave to Israel his commands;
But sent his truth and mercy down
To all the nations by his Son.
Let the whole earth his power confess,
Let the whole earth adore his grace;
The Gentile with the Jew shall join
In work and worship so divine.
PART 1-2 (L. M.)
The Lord, how wondrous are his ways!
How firm his truth! how large his grace!
He takes his mercy for his throne,
And thence he makes his glories known.
Not half so high his power hath spread
The starry heavens above our head,
As his rich love exceeds our praise,
Exceeds the highest hopes we raise.
Not half so far hath nature placed
The rising morning from the west,
As his forgiving grace removes
The daily guilt of those he loves.
How slowly doth his wrath arise!
On swifter wings salvation flies;
And if he lets his anger burn,
How soon his frowns to pity turn
Amidst his wrath compassion shines;
His strokes are lighter than our sins
And while his rod corrects his saints,
His ear indulges their complaints.
So fathers their young sons chastise
With gentle hand and melting eyes;
The children weep beneath the smart,
And move the pity of their heart.
The mighty God, the wise and just,
Knows that our frame is feeble dust;
And will no heavy loads impose
Beyond the strength that he bestows.
He knows how soon our nature dies,
Blasted by every wind that flies;
Like grass we spring, and die as soon,
Or morning flowers that fade at noon.
But his eternal love is sure
To all the saints, and shall endure;
From age to age his truth shall reign,
Nor children's children hope in vain.
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PART 2-1 (S. M.)
O bless the Lord, my soul!
Let all within me join,
And aid my tongue to bless his name
Whose favors are divine.
O bless the Lord, my soul,
Nor let his mercies lie
Forgotten in unthankfulness,
And without praises die.
'Tis he forgives thy sins,
'Tis he relieves thy pain,
'Tis he that heals thy sicknesses
And makes thee young again.
He crowns thy life with love,
When ransomed from the grave;
He that redeemed my soul from hell
Hath sovereign power to save.
He fills the poor with good,
He gives the sufferers rest;
The Lord hath judgments for the proud,
And justice for th' oppressed.
His wondrous works and ways
He made by Moses known
But sent the world his truth and grace
By his beloved Son.
PART 2-2 (S. M.)
My soul, repeat his praise,
Whose mercies are so great,
Whose anger is so slow to rise,
So ready to abate.
God will not always chide;
And when his strokes are felt,
His strokes are fewer than our crimes,
And lighter than our guilt.
High as the heavens are raised
Above the ground we tread,
So far the riches of his grace
Our highest thoughts exceed.
His power subdues our sins,
And his forgiving love
Far as the east is from the west
Doth all our guilt remove.
The pity of the Lord,
To those that fear his name,
Is such as tender parents feel;
He knows our feeble frame.
He knows we are but dust,
Scattered with every breath;
His anger, like a rising wind,
Can send us swift to death.
Our days are as the grass,
Or like the morning flower;
If one sharp blast sweep o'er the field
It withers in an hour.
But thy compassions, Lord,
To endless years endure;
And children's children ever find
Thy words of promise sure.
PART 2-3. (S. M.)
The Lord, the sovereign King,
Hath fixed his throne on high;
O'er all the heavenly world he rules,
And all beneath the sky.
Ye angels, great in might,
And swift to do his will,
Bless ye the Lord, whose voice ye hear,
Whose pleasure ye fulfill.
Let the bright hosts who wait
The orders of their King,
And guard his churches when they pray,
Join in the praise they sing.
While all his wondrous works
Through his vast kingdom show
Their Maker's glory, thou, my soul,
Shalt sing his graces too.
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