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 power 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.

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.]