7 He loves his saints, he knows them well,
But turns the wicked down to hell: 
Thy God, O Zion, ever reigns;
Praise him in everlasting strains.

Psalm 146:2.  As the 113th Psalm. 
Praise to God for his goodness and truth.

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

2 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.

3 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’ opprest, he feeds the poor,
And none shall find his promise vain.

4 The Lord hath eyes to give the blind;
The Lord supports the sinking mind;
He sends the labouring conscience peace: 
He helps the stranger in distress,
The widow and the fatherless,
And grants the prisoner sweet release.

5 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.

6 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.

Psalm 147:1.  First Part. 
The divine nature, providence and grace.

1 Praise ye the Lord; ’tis good to raise
Our hearts and voices in his praise;
His nature and his works invite
To make this duty our delight.

2 The Lord builds up Jerusalem,
And gathers nations to his Name: 
His mercy melts the stubborn soul,
And makes the broken spirit whole.

3 He form’d the stars, those heavenly flames, He counts their numbers, calls their names:  His wisdom’s vast, and knows no bound, A deep where all our thoughts are drown’d.

4 Great is our Lord, and great his might;
And all his glories infinite: 
He crowns the meek, rewards the just,
And treads the wicked to the dust.

Pause.

5 Sing to the Lord, exalt him high, Who spreads his cloud all round the sky, There he prepares the fruitful rain, Nor lets the drops descend in vain.

6 He makes the grass the hills adorn, And clothes the smiling fields with corn, The beasts with food his hands supply, And the young ravens when they cry.

7 What is the creature’s skill or force,
The sprightly man, the warlike horse,
The nimble wit, the active limb? 
All are too mean delights for him.