Isaac Watts

God’s care of the saints; or, Deliverance by prayer

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.

Come, magnify the Lord with me,
Come, let us all exalt his name;
I sought th’ eternal God, and he
Has not exposed my hope to shame.

I told him all my secret grief,
My secret groaning reached his ears;
He gave my inward pains relief;
And calmed the tumult of my fears.

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.

His holy angels pitch their tents
Around the men that serve the Lord;
O fear and love him, all his saints,
Taste of his grace, and trust his word.