Hymn 59. Psalm 145

My God, my king, to thee I’ll raise

My voice, and all my powers;

Unwearied songs of sacred praise

Shall fill the circling hours.

Thy name shall dwell upon my tongue,     

While suns shall set and rise,

And tune my everlasting song,

When all creation dies.

Great is the Lord! our souls adore,

We wonder whilst we praise!     

His power what creature can explore,

Or equal honours raise?

Yet shall thy works, almighty Lord,

Our noblest songs adorn;

Thy glorious acts we will record,

For ages yet unborn.

Thy praise shall be my awful theme,

The wonders of thy power;

I’ll speak the honours of thy name,

And bid the world adore.                                                           

The men that hear my sacred lyre,

Shall spread thy praises round;

While thy tremendous deeds inspire

To notes of solemn sound.

But sweetly flowing strains shall tell                                                                 

The riches of thy grace;

And songs of grateful joy reveal

Thy spotless righteousness.

How full the Lord’s compassions flow!

His wrath, how slow to rise!  

Swift pardon smiles upon his brow,

And every terror dies.

How large his tender mercies are!

How wide his power extends!

On his beneficence and care                                                                              

The universe depends.

Great God, whilst Nature speaks thy praise,

With all her numerous tongues,

Thy saints shall tune diviner lays,                                                        

And love inspire their songs.                                                                 

Thy power and grandeur they shall sing,

The glories of thy reign;

Thy wonderous deeds, Almighty King,

Shall fill the raptur’d strain.

Thy kingdom, Lord, for ever stands,                                                             

While earthly thrones decay;

And Time submits to thy commands,

While ages roll away.

The falling saint, with powerful grace,

The God of Love will raise;                                                        

The humble, bending with distress,

Shall rise and speak his praise.

To thee, O Lord, for daily meat,

Thy creatures lift their eyes;

On thee, their common Father, wait,                                                                

From thee, receive supplies.

Thy sovereign bounty freely gives

Its inexhausted store;

And universal nature lives

On thy sustaining power.                                                           

Holy and just in all its ways

Is Providence divine;

In all its works, immortal rays

Of power and mercy shine.

Whoe’er invokes the God of grace    

Shall find him ever near;

To all that humbly seek his face

He lends a pitying ear.

His pitying ear attends the cry

Of those who fear his name;                                                                  

Their every want he will supply,

And raise their sinking frame.

How blest in his protecting care,

The souls who love the Lord!

While impious men his vengeance dare,                                             

And die beneath his sword.

The praise of God, delightful theme!

Shall fill my heart and tongue;

Let all creation bless his name,

In one eternal song.

Text: Timothy Whelan, gen. ed., Nonconformist Women Writers, 8 vols. (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2011), vol. 1, pp. 347-49; Collection of Hymns Adapted to Public Worship, no. 59 (first five stanzas); Poems, 1780, vol. 2, pp. 243-47; MS, Steele Collection, STE 3/2/1, Angus Library, Regents Park College,  Oxford.