Psalm CIV.
1
My soul shall bless thy name, O Lord,
For thou art God most high:
With honour great thou art arrai'd,
And cloth'd with majesty.
2
With glistring robes of purest light,
Thou art enclos'd about:
And as a curtain round thy throne
The heavens are stretched out.
3
His chambers on the waters lie,
And clouds his chariots are:
And him upon their mighty wings
The winds most swiftly bear.
4
The angels are his ministers,
That round about him stand:
And swift as flames of lightning fly
If he but gives command.
5
The strong foundations of the earth,
He hath so surely laid:
That it can never be remov'd,
But by his power is staid.
6
When mighty floods did cover it,
And tops of mountains hide:
At thy rebuke they fled away,
Nor would thy voice abide.
7
And though from hills to vales they flow,
Yet thou hast set a bound,
They cannot pass; nor turn again,
To cover all the ground.
8
The springs into the vales he sends,
Between the hills to glide:
At which wild asses quench their thirst,
And every beast beside.
9
By them the birds shall build their nests,
That on the branches sing:
The hills are watered by his clouds,
And fruit in plenty bring.
10
He causes grass for beasts to grow,
And herb to serve man's use:
And makes the earth for every thing,
Convenient food produce.
11
The wine that chears the heart of man,
The oil that beauty gives:
And bread the great support of man,
By which he daily lives.
12
The cedar tall, of Lebanon,
By him with sap are fill'd:
Where birds are wont to make their nests,
And firs for storks to build.
13
Upon the lofty hills and rocks,
Where nothing seems to grow,
The wild goats and the coneys find
Both food and shelter too.
14
He hath ordain'd, that by the moon
The seasons should be known:
And constantly the sun observes
His times of going down.
15
When night is come, in forrests then
The wild beasts creep abroad:
Young lions roaring for their prey,
Do seek their meat from God.
16
But at sun-rising, in their dens,
Again themselves they hide:
And man unto his labour goes,
Until the even-tide.
17
How various are thy works, O Lord!
And all contriv'd with skill:
The earth so deep, the sea so wide,
Thy endless riches fill.
18
There go the ships, there fishes swim
In shoals, of every sort:
And mighty whales, which thou hast made,
Therein to play and sport.
19
All these depend and wait on thee,
In season for their food:
Thou openest thy hand to them,
And they are fill'd with good.
20
Thou hid'st thy face, and they return
To dust, from whence they came:
And thou do'st stock the world again,
With others of the same.
21
All glory shall forever be,
Unto the Lord alone:
He shall rejoyce in all the works,
His mighty hand hath done.
22
If he but looks upon the earth,
It trembleth presently:
And if he does but touch the hills,
In smoke away they fly.
23
I will sing praises to the Lord,
As long as I shall live:
To think on him, and praise his name,
Shall sweetest pleasure give.
24
Let sinners perish from the earth,
And wicked be no more:
But I will ever bless the Lord,
And him alone adore.
