Psalm 103

A Hymn by Isaac Watts - Psalm 103

Bless, O my soul, the living God,
Call home thy thoughts that rove abroad,
Let all the powers within me join
In work and worship so divine.

Bless, O my soul, the God of grace;
His favors claim thy highest praise:
Why should the wonders he hath wrought
Be lost in silence and forgot?

'Tis he, my soul, that sent his Son
To die for crimes which thou hast done;
He owns the ransom, and forgives
The hourly follies of our lives.

The vices of the mind he heals,
And cures the pains that nature feels;
Redeems the soul from hell, and saves
Our wasting life from threat'ning graves.

Our youth decayed, his power repairs;
His mercy crowns our growing years;
He satisfies our mouth with good,
And fills our hopes with heav'nly food.

He sees th' oppressor and th' oppressed,
And often gives the suff'rers rest;
But will his justice more display
In the last great rewarding day.

His pow'r he showed by Moses' hands,
And gave to Isr'el his commands;
but sent his truth and mercy down
To all the nations by his Son.

8 Let the whole earth his power confess,
Let the whole earth adore his grace;
The Gentile with the Jew shall join
In work and worship so divine.

The Lord, how wondrous are his ways!
How firm his truth! How large his grace!
He takes his mercy for his throne,
And thence he makes his glories known.

10 Not half so high his power hath spread
The starry heav'ns above our head,
As his rich love exceeds our praise,
Exceeds the highest hopes we raise.

How slowly doth his wrath arise!
On swifter wings salvation flies;
And if he lets his anger burn,
How soon his frowns to pity turn!

Amidst his wrath compassion shines;
His strokes are lighter than our sins;
And while his rod corrects his saints,
His ear indulges their complaints.

So fathers their young sons chastise
With gentle hand and melting eyes;
The children weep beneath the smart,
And move the pity of their heart.

The mighty God, the wise and just,
Knows that our frame is feeble dust;
And will no heavy loads impose
Beyond the strength that he bestows.

He knows how soon our nature dies,
Blasted by ev'ry wind that flies;
Like grass we spring, and die as soon,
Or morning flowers that fade at noon.

But his eternal love is sure
To all the saints, and shall endure;
From age to age his truth shall reign,
Nor children's children hope in vain.