My Soul, Thy Great Creator Praise

My soul

thy great cre­at­or praise:

When clothed in His ce­les­ti­al rays

He in full ma­jes­ty ap­pears

And like a robe His glo­ry wears.

The heav’ns for His cur­tains spread

Th’unfathomed deep He makes His bed.

Clouds are His cha­ri­ot when He flies

On wing­èd storms across the skies.

Angels

whom His own breath in­spires

His mi­ni­sters

are flam­ing fires;

And swift as thought their ar­mies move

To bear His ven­geance or His love.

The world’s foun­da­tions by His hand

Are poised

and shall for ev­er stand;

He binds the ocean in His chain

Lest it should drown the earth again.

When earth was co­vered by the flood

Which high above the mount­ains stood

He thun­dered

and the ocean fled

Confined to its ap­point­ed bed.

The swell­ing bil­lows know their bound

And in their chan­nels walk their round;

Yet thence con­veyed by sec­ret veins

They spring on hills and drench the plains.

He bids the crys­tal fount­ains flow

And cheer the val­leys as they go;

Tame hei­fers there their thirst al­lay

And for the stream wild ass­es bray.

From plea­sant trees which shade the brink

The lark and lin­net light to drink;

Their songs the lark and lin­net raise

And chide our si­lence in His praise.

God from His cloudy cis­tern pours

On the parched earth en­rich­ing show­ers;

The grove

the gar­den

and the field

A thou­sand joy­ful bless­ings yield.

He makes the grassy food arise

And gives the cat­tle large su­pplies;

With herbs for man of va­ri­ous pow­er

To nour­ish nature or to cure.

What no­ble fruit the vines pro­duce!

The ol­ive yields in shin­ing juice;

Our hearts are cheered with ge­ner­ous wine

With in­ward joy our fac­es shine.

O bless His name

ye Bri­tons

fed

With na­ture’s chief sup­port­er

bread;

While bread your vi­tal strength im­parts

Serve Him with vi­gor in your hearts.

Behold the state­ly ce­dar stands

Raised in the fo­rest by His hands:

Birds to the boughs for shel­ter fly

And build their nests se­cure on high.

To crag­gy hills as­cends the goat;

And at the ai­ry mount­ain’s foot

The feeb­ler crea­tures make their cell;

He gives them wis­dom where to dwell.

He sets the sun his circ­ling race

Appoints the moon to change her face;

And when thick dark­ness veils the day

Calls out wild beasts to hunt their prey.

Fierce li­ons lead their young abroad

And roar­ing ask their meat from God;

But when the morn­ing beams arise

The sav­age beast to co­vert flies.

Then man to dai­ly la­bor goes;

The night was made for his re­pose:

Sleep is Thy gift; that sweet re­lief

From tire­some toil and wast­ing grief.

How strange Thy works! How great Thy skill!

And ev­ery land Thy rich­es fill:

Thy wis­dom round the world we see

This spa­cious earth is full of Thee.

Nor less Thy glo­ries in the deep

Where fish in mill­ions swim and creep

With won­drous mo­tions

swift or slow

Still wan­der­ing in the paths be­low.

There ships di­vide their wa­tery way

And flocks of sca­ly mon­sters play;

There dwells the huge Le­via­than

And foams and sports in spite of man.

Vast are Thy works

al­migh­ty Lord

All na­ture rests up­on Thy Word

And the whole race of crea­tures stands

Waiting their por­tion from Thy hands.

While each re­ceives his dif­fer­ent food

Their cheer­ful looks pro­nounce it good;

Eagles and bears

and whales and worms

Rejoice and praise in dif­fer­ent forms.

But when Thy face is hid

they mourn

And dy­ing to their dust re­turn;

Both man and beast their souls re­sign

Life

breath

and spir­it

all is Thine.

Yet Thou canst breathe on dust again

And fill the world with beasts and men;

A word of Thy cre­at­ing breath

Repairs the wastes of time and death.

His works

the won­ders of His might

Are hon­ored with His own de­light:

How awful are His glo­ri­ous ways!

The Lord is dread­ful in His praise.

The earth stands trem­bling at Thy stroke

And at Thy touch the mount­ains smoke;

Yet hum­ble souls may see Thy face

And tell their wants to sov­er­eign grace.

In Thee my hopes and wish­es meet

And make my me­di­ta­tions sweet:

Thy prais­es shall my breath em­ploy

Till it ex­pire in end­less joy.

While haugh­ty sin­ners die ac­cursed

Their glo­ry bur­ied with their dust

I

to my God

my heav­en­ly king

Immortal hal­le­lu­jahs sing.