By A Collection of Hymns

      L.M. Psalm cxlvi.
      1 PRAISE ye the Lord! 'tis good to raise
      Your hearts and voices in his praise:
      His nature and his works invite
      To make this duty our delight.

      2 He formed the stars, those heavenly flames,
      He counts their numbers, calls their names,
      His wisdom's vast, and knows no bound,
      A deep where all our thoughts are drowned.

      3 Sing to the Lord; exalt him high,
      Who spreads his clouds along the sky,
      There he prepares the fruitful rain,
      Nor lets the drops descend in vain.

      4 He makes the grass the hills adorn,
      And clothes the smiling fields with corn;
      The beasts with food his hands supply,
      And the young ravens when they cry.

      5 What is the creature's skill or force?
      The sprightly man, or warlike horse?
      The piercing wit, the active limb?
      All are too mean delights for him.

      6 But saints are lovely in his sight,
      He views his children with delight;
      He sees their hope, he knows their fear,
      And looks and loves his image there.