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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
1
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
2
God will not always chide;
And when his strokes are felt,
His strokes are fewer than our crimes,
And lighter than our guilt.



3
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

4
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

5
The pity of the Lord
To those that fear his name,
Is such as tender parents feel:
He knows our feeble frame.



6
He knows we are but dust,
Scatter’d with ev’ry breath;
His anger, like a rising wind,
Can send us swift to death.



7
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.



8
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.