Words: Par­a­phrase of Psalm 147; au­thor un­known.

Music: Blair­gow­rie, , 1872.


O sing ye hallelujah! ’Tis good our God to praise.
’Tis pleasant and becoming to Him our songs to raise;
He builds the walls of Zion, He seeks her wandering sons;
He binds their wounds and comforts the brokenhearted ones.

The starry hosts He numbers, He calls them all by name;
His greatness and His wisdom His wondrous works proclaim;
The meek He lifts to honor, He humbles sinful pride.
Give thanks to Him and utter His praises far and wide.

The heav’ns with clouds He covers, He sends the cheering rain;
The slopes of all the mountains He fills with grass and grain;
To beast and bird His goodness their daily food supplies;
He cares for all His creatures, attentive to their cries.

No human power delights Him, no earthly pomp or pride;
He loves the meek who fear Him and in His love confide;
Then praise thy God, O Zion, His gracious aid confess;
He gives thee peace and plenty, His gifts thy children bless.

He sends His swift commandment, and snow and ice enfold
The world, and none are able to stand before His cold.
Again He gives commandment: The winds of summer blow,
The snow and ice are melted, again the waters flow.

His statues and His judgments He makes His people know;
To them as to no others His grace He loves to show;
For matchless grace and mercy your grateful praises bring;
To give Him thanks forever and hallelujah sing.