Praise ye the Lord!—'t is good to raise

Praise ye the Lord!—'t is good to raise
Our hearts and voices in his praise;
His nature and his works invite
To make this duty our delight.

The Lord builds up Jerusalem,
And gathers nations to his name;
His mercy melts the stubborn soul,
And makes the broken spirit whole.

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.

Great is our Lord, and great his might,
And all his glories infinite;
He crowns the meek, rewards the just,
And treads the wicked to the dust.

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.

Proclaim him King, pronounce him blest:
He's your defense, your joy, your rest:
When terrors rise and nations faint,
God is the strength of every saint.