Sing to the Lord with joyful voice

Sing to the Lord with joyful voice; Let every land his name adore; The British isles shall send the noise Across the ocean to the shore.

Nations, attend before his throne With solemn fear, with sacred joy; Know that the Lord is God alone; He can create, and he destroy.

His sovereign power, without our aid, Made us of clay, and form'd us men; And when like wandering sheep we stray'd, He brought us to his fold again.

We are his people, we his care, Our souls and all our mortal frame: What lasting honours shall we rear, Almighty Maker, to thy Name!

We'll crowd thy gates with thankful songs, High as the heavens our voices raise; And earth with her ten thousand tongues Shall fill thy courts with sounding praise.

Wide as the world is thy command, Vast as eternity thy love; Firm as a rock thy truth must stand When rolling years shall cease to move.

Psalm 101:1. L. M. The Magistrate's psalm.

Mercy and judgment are my song; And since they both to thee belong, My gracious God, my righteous King, To thee my songs and vows I bring.

If I am rais'd to bear the sword, I'll take my counsels from thy word; Thy justice and thy heavenly grace Shall be the pattern of my ways.

Let wisdom all my actions guide, And let my God with me reside; No wicked thing shall dwell with me, Which may provoke thy jealousy.

No sons of slander, rage and strife Shall be companions of my life; The haughty look, the heart of pride Within my doors shall ne'er abide.

[I'll search the land, and raise the just To posts of honour, wealth and trust: The men that work thy holy will, Shall be my friends and favourites still.]

In vain shall sinners hope to rise By flattering or malicious lies; And while the innocent I guard, The bold offender shan't be spar'd.

The impious crew (that factious band) Shall hide their heads, or quit the land; And all that break the public rest, Where I have power shall be supprest.

Psalm 101:2. C. M. A psalm for a master of a family.

Of justice and of grace I sing, And pay my God my vows; Thy grace and justice, heavenly King, Teach me to rule my house.

Now to my tent, O God, repair, And make thy servant wise; I'll suffer nothing near me there That shall offend thine eyes.

The man that doth his neighbour wrong, By falsehood or by force; The scornful eye, the slanderous tongue, I'll thrust them from my doors.

I'll seek the faithful and the just And will their help enjoy; These are the friends that I shall trust, The servants I'll employ.

The wretch that deals in sly deceit, I'll not endure a night; The liar's tongue I ever hate, And banish from my sight.

I'll purge my family around, And make the wicked flee; So shall my house be ever found A dwelling fit for thee.

Psalm 102:1. 1-13 20 21. First Part. A prayer of the afflicted.

Hear me, O God, nor hide thy face, But answer lest I die; Hast thou not built a throne of grace To hear when sinners cry?

My days are wasted like the smoke Dissolving in the air; My strength is dry'd, my heart is broke, And sinking in despair.

My spirits flag like withering grass Burnt with excessive heat; In secret groans my minutes pass, And I forget to eat.

As on some lonely building's top The sparrow tells her moan, Far from the tents of joy and hope I sit and grieve alone.

My soul is like a wilderness, Where beasts of midnight howl; There the sad raven finds her place, And there the screaming owl.

Dark dismal thoughts and boding fears Dwell in my troubled breast; While sharp reproaches wound my ears, Nor give my spirit rest.

My cup is mingled with my woes, And tears are my repast; My daily bread like ashes grows Unpleasant to my taste.

Sense can afford no real joy To souls that feel thy frown; Lord, 'twas thy hand advanc'd me high, Thy hand hath cast me down.

My looks like wither'd leaves appear, And life's declining light Grows faint as evening shadows are, That vanish into night.

But thou for ever art the same, O my eternal God: Ages to come shall know thy Name, And spread thy works abroad.

Thou wilt arise and shew thy face, Nor will my Lord delay Beyond th' appointed hour of grace, That long expected day.

He hears his saints, he knows their cry, And by mysterious ways Redeems the prisoners doom'd to die, And fills their tongues with praise.

Psalm 102:2. 13-21. Second Part. Prayer heard and Zion restored.

Let Zion and her sons rejoice, Behold the promis'd hour; Her God hath heard her mourning voice, And comes t' exalt his power.

Her dust and ruins that remain Are precious in our eyes; Those ruins shall be built again, And all that dust shall rise.

The Lord will raise Jerusalem, And stand in glory there; Nations shall bow before has name, And kings attend with fear.

He sits a sovereign on his throne, With pity in his eyes; He hears the dying prisoners groan, And sees their sighs arise.

He frees the souls condemn'd to death, And when his saints complain, It shan't be said 'That praying breath 'Was ever spent in vain.'

This shall be known when we are dead, And left on long record, That ages yet unborn may read, And trust, and praise the Lord.

Psalm 102:3. 25-28. Third Part. Man's mortality and Christ's eternity; or, Saints die, but Christ and the church live.

It is the Lord our Saviour's hand Weakens our strength amidst the race; Disease and death at his command Arrest us, and cut short our days.

Spare us, O Lord, aloud we pray, Nor let our sun go down at noon: Thy years are one eternal day, And must thy children die so soon?

Yet in the midst of death and grief This thought our sorrow shall assuage, "Our Father and our Saviour live; "Christ is the same thro' every age."

'Twas he this earth's foundation laid; Heaven is the building of his hand: This earth grows old, these heavens shall fade, And all be chang'd at his command.

The starry curtains of the sky Like garments shall be laid aside; But still thy throne stands firm and high; Thy church for ever must abide.

Before thy face thy church shall live, And on thy throne thy children reign; This dying world shall they survive, And the dead saints be rais'd again.

Psalm 103:1. 1-7. First Part. L. M. Blessing God for his goodness to soul and body.

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 favours 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 decay'd his power repairs; His mercy crowns our growing years; He satisfies our mouth with good, And fills our hopes with heavenly food.

He sees th' oppressor and th' opprest, And often gives the sufferers rest; But will his justice more display In the last great rewarding day.

[His power he shew'd by Moses' hands, And gave to Israel 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.]

Psalm 103:2. 8-18. Second Part. L. M. God's gentle chastisement; or, His tender mercy to his people.

The Lord, how wondrous are his ways: How firm his truth how large his grace; He takes his mercy for his throne, And thence he makes his glories known.

Not half so high his power hath spread The starry heavens above our head, As his rich love exceeds our praise, Exceeds the highest hopes we raise.

Not half so far hath nature plac'd The rising morning from the west, As his forgiving grace removes The daily guilt of those he loves.

How slowly doth his wrath arise! On swifter wings salvation flies; And if he lets his anger burn, How soon his frowns to pity turn!

Amidst his wrath compassion shines; His strokes are lighter than our sins; And while his rod corrects his saints, His ear indulges their complaints.

So fathers their young sons chastise, With gentle hand and melting eyes; The children weep beneath the smart, And move the pity of their heart.