I�ll praise my Maker while I�ve breath,
And when my voice is lost in death,
Praise shall employ my nobler powers;
My days of praise shall ne�er be past,
While life, and thought, and being last,
Or immortality endures.

Why should I make a man my trust?
Princes must die and turn to dust;
Vain is the help of flesh and blood:
Their breath departs, their pomp, and power,
And thoughts, all vanish in an hour,
Nor can they make their promise good.

Happy the man whose hopes rely
On Israel�s God: He made the sky,
And earth, and seas, with all their train:
His truth for ever stands secure;
He saves th�oppressed, He feeds the poor,
And none shall find His promise vain.

The Lord has eyes to give the blind;
The Lord supports the sinking mind;
He sends the labr�ing conscience peace;
He helps the stranger in distress,
The widow, and the fatherless,
And grants the pris�ner sweet release.

He loves His saints, He knows them well,
But turns the wicked down to hell;
Thy God, O Zion! ever reigns:
Let every tongue, let every age,
In this exalted work engage;
Praise Him in everlasting strains.

I�ll praise Him while He lends me breath,
And when my voice is lost in death,
Praise shall employ my nobler powers;
My days of praise shall ne�er be past,
While life, and thought, and being last,
Or immortality endures.