Your maker’s praise, ye righteous souls, proclaim;
All ye his servants, hymn his holy name;
The name of your tremendous Lord adore,
That all to endless time may hail his pow’r;
From morn to night, while glads the sun the day,
Let man the mercies of his God display;
His God, above the nations seated high,
High in the heav’ns, enthron’d in majesty.
What fancied god can with our God compare?
Whose throne’s supported by the azure air;
Whose eye, all-seeing, heav’n and earth pervades,
Who in their deep distress the wretched aids;
The poor who raises from his low estate,
And, equal with proud princes, makes him great;
Who gives the sterile womb a fruitful birth;
With joy the matron brings her issue forth;
With joy she views her progeny around;
The praises of your God, ye just, resound.