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.
