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My soul, repeat his praise

PSALM CIII. 8,—18. Second Part.
Abounding compassion of God; or, Mercy in the midst of judgment.

Poet: Isaac Watts, 1719
Meter: Short Meter (6,6,8,6)
Location in The Sacred Harp
Stanza Denson Cooper
My soul, repeat his praise
Whose mercies are so great;
Whose anger is so slow to rise,
So ready to abate.

America 36t, Stanza 1

America 36t, Stanza 1
God will not always chide;
And when his strokes are felt,
His strokes are fewer than our crimes,
And lighter than our guilt.

High as the heav’ns are rais’d
Above the ground we tread,
So far the riches of his grace
Our highest thoughts exceed.

America 36t, Stanza 2

His pow’r subdues our sins,
And his forgiving love
Far as the East is from the West,
Doth all our guilt remove.

America 36t, Stanza 3

The pity of the Lord
To those that fear his name,
Is such as tender parents feel:
He knows our feeble frame.

He knows we are but dust,
Scatter’d with ev’ry breath;
His anger, like a rising wind,
Can send us swift to death.

Our days are as the grass,
Or like the morning flow’r:
If one sharp blast sweep o’er the field,
It withers in an hour.

But thy compassions, Lord,
To endless years endure;
And childrens children ever find
Thy words of promise sure.

Watts, Isaac. The Psalms of David: Imitated in the Language of the New Testament, and applied to the Christian State and Worship. 22nd ed. London: T. Longman et. al., 1769.