I will ex­tol Thee, Lord on high,
At Thy com­mand dis­eas­es fly:
Who but a God can speak and save,
From the dark bor­ders of the grave?

Sing to the Lord, ye saints of His,
And tell how large His good­ness is;
Let all your pow­ers re­joice and bless,
While you re­cord His ho­li­ness.

His an­ger but a mo­ment stays;
His love is life and length of days;
Though grief and tears the night em­ploy,
The morn­ing star re­stores the joy.