Henry Francis Lyte (1793–1847)

(Psalm ciii.)

PRAISE, my soul, the King of heaven,

To His feet thy tribute bring:

Ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven,

Who like me His praise should sing?

Praise Him! praise Him!

Praise the everlasting King!

Praise Him for His grace and favour

To our fathers in distress;

Praise Him still the same as ever,

Slow to chide, and swift to bless;

Praise Him! praise Him!

Glorious in His faithfulness!

Father-like, He tends and spares us,

Well our feeble frame He knows:

In His hands He gently bears us,

Rescues us from all our foes:

Praise Him! praise Him!

Widely as His mercy flows.

Angels, help us to adore Him;

Ye behold Him face to face;

Sun and moon, bow down before Him,

Dwellers all in time and space:

Praise Him! praise Him!

Praise with us the God of grace.

Frail as summer’s flower we flourish;

Blows the wind, and it is gone:

But while mortals rise and perish,

God endures unchanging on:

Praise Him! Praise Him!

Praise the high eternal One!