My soul, repeat His praise

1My soul, repeat His praise,
Whose mercies are so great;
Whose anger is so slow to rise,
So ready to abate.

2High as the heavens are raised
Above the ground we tread,
So far the riches of his grace
Our highest thoughts exceed.

3The pity of the Lord,
To those that fear his name,
Is such as tender parents feel;
He knows our feeble frame.

4His power subdues our sins;
And his forgiving love,
Far as the east is from the west,
Doth all our guilt remove.