It is good to praise th’Al­migh­ty
And make mu­sic to Your name;
To pro­claim Your love each morn­ing,
And each night Your faith­ful reign.
Add the mu­sic of the lyre,
Let the harp lift up its voice.
For You make me glad, my Fa­ther,
At Your works I now re­joice.

O how great your works, O Lord God,
How pro­found Your thoughts to­ward man.
Senseless men can ne­ver fa­thom,
Fools can ne­ver un­der­stand
That al­though the wick­ed flour­ish,
Like the grass that sprouts in spring,
They will be de­stroyed for­ev­er,
When You come to judge all things.

You, O Lord, ex­alt­ed ev­er
Over all Your en­emies,
Some day they will sure­ly per­ish,
Scattered and brought to their knees.
But you’ve made me strong and stur­dy,
You’ve re­freshed me by Your care.
I have seen my ad­ver­sar­ies
Vanquished and left in des­pair.

See the right­eous, like a palm tree,
Or a ce­dar tow­er­ing high,
Planted in the Lord’s own gar­den,
They will flour­ish and not die.
In old age they’ll still be fruit­ful,
Vital, stal­wart, and ro­bust,
Saying e’er, The Lord is up­right,
He’s my rock, in Him I trust.