My soul, repeat His praise
1
My soul, repeat His praise,
Whose mercies are so great;
Whose anger is so slow to rise,
So ready to abate.
2
High as the heavens are raised
Above the ground we tread,
So far the riches of his grace
Our highest thoughts exceed.
3
The pity of the Lord,
To those that fear his name,
Is such as tender parents feel;
He knows our feeble frame.
4
His power subdues our sins;
And his forgiving love,
Far as the east is from the west,
Doth all our guilt remove.