M0:|c:D|m:4/4|t:EWS 27 I'll praise my Maker|a:Isaac Watts (1674-1748)|i:OLD 113TH|h:Matthias Greiter (1495-1550)|r:888888
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E1:I'll praise my Ma_ker with my breath,/And when my voice is lost in death,/Praise shall emp_loy my nob_ler powers/My days of praise shall ne'er be past,/While life, and thought, and be_ing last,/Or im_mor_ta_li_ty en_dures.
E2:Why should I make a man my trust?/Prin_ces must die and turn to dust;/Vain is the help of flesh and blood:/Their breath de_parts, their pomp and power,/And thoughts all va_nish in an hour,/Nor can they make their pro_mise good.
E3:Hap_py the man whose hopes re_ly/On Isr_ael's God; He made the sky/And earth and seas, with all their train;/His truth for e_ver stands se_cure;/He saves th'op_press'd, He feeds the poor,/And none shall find His pro_mise vain.
E4:The Lord hath eyes to give the blind;/The Lord sup_ports the sink_ing mind;/He sends the la_bouring con_science peace,/He helps the stran_ger in dis_tress,/The wi_dow and the fa_ther_less,/And grants the pri_soner sweet re_lease.
E5:He loves his saints, He knows them well,/But turns the wick_ed down to hell;/Thy God, O Zi_on, e_ver reigns;/Let e_very tongue, let e_very age,/In this ex_al_ted work en_gage;/Praise Him in e_ver_last_ing strains.
E6:I'll praise Him while He lends me breath;/And when my voice is lost in death,/Praise shall em_ploy my nob_ler powers;/My days of praise shall ne'er be past,/While life and thought and be_ing last,/Or im_mor_ta_li_ty en_dures.
