|103 (1)||Psalm 103 Version 1||SM|
| MY soul, repeat His praise,
Whose mercies are so great;
Whose anger is so slow to rise,
So ready to abate.
|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 heavens are raised
Above the ground we tread,
So far the riches of His grace
Our highest thoughts exceed.
|4|| His power subdues our sins;
And His forgiving love,
Far as the east is from the west,
Doth all our guilt remove.
|5|| The pity of the Lord,
To those that fear His name,
Is such as tender parents feel;
He knows our feeble frame.
|6|| Our days are as the grass,
Or like the morning flower;
If one sharp blast sweep o’er the field,
It withers in an hour.
|Isaac Watts, 1674-1748|