Isaac Watts, 1674-1748
Lord, I will bless thee all my days,|
Thy praise shall dwell upon my tongue
My soul shall glory in thy grace,
While saints rejoice to hear the song.
2. Come, magnify the Lord with me,
3. I told him all my secret grief,
4. To him the poor lift up their eyes,|
Their faces feel the heav'nly shine;
A beam of mercy from the skies
Fills them with light and joy divine.
5. His holy angels pitch their tents
6. The wild young lions, pinched with pain
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