55 lines
2.7 KiB
HTML
55 lines
2.7 KiB
HTML
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<title>BLB Hymns</title>
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<h2>MY SOUL, REPEAT HIS PRAISE</h2>
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<p align="center"><h3>“Praise…His glorious grace.” Ephesians 1:6</h3></p>
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<center><b>Hymns Supplied Through the Gracious Generosity<br>of the </b><a href="http://www.hymntime.com/tch/" target = "_blank"><b>Cyber Hymnal Website</b></a><br><br><a href="./hymns/hymns_html/cyberhymnal_info.html" target = "_blank">Information about Cyber Hymnal Website</a></center>
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<div align="center">
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<center>
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<table>
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<tr>
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<td><img src="./hymns/hymns_img/img_w_a_watts_i.jpg" alt="Isaac Watts (1674-1748)" width="132.666666666667" height="184.666666666667"></td>
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<td><em>Words:</em> <a href="./hymns/hymns_bio/bio_w_a_watts_i.html" target="_blank">Isaac Watts</a>, <em>The Psalms of David</em>, 1719.
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<p><em>Music:</em> “Ben Rhydding,” <a href="./hymns/hymns_bio/bio_r_e_reinagle_ar.html" target="_blank">Alexander Robert Reinagle</a> </p><p><table><tr><td><a href="./hymns/hymns_mid/mid_b_benrhydd.mid" target = "_blank"><img border=0 src="./hymns/hymns_img/notes.gif"><br><b>Play MIDI</b></a></td><td> </td><td><a href="./hymns/hymns_html/score_info.html" target = "_blank"><b>Link to obtain<br>musical score info</b></a></td></tr></table></p>
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<td><img src="./hymns/hymns_img/img_r_e_reinagle_ar.gif" alt="Alexander Robert Reinagle (1799-1877)" width="114" height="162"></td>
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</tr>
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</table>
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</center>
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</div>
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<hr>
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<div class="lyrics">
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<p>My soul, repeat His praise,<br>
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Whose mercies are so great;<br>
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Whose anger is so slow to rise,<br>
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So ready to abate.</p>
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<p>God will not always chide;<br>
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And when His strokes are felt,<br>
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His strokes are fewer than our crimes,<br>
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And lighter than our guilt.</p>
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<p>High as the heav’ns are raised,<br>
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Above the ground we tread,<br>
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So far the riches of His grace<br>
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Our highest thoughts exceed.</p>
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<p>His power subdues our sins;<br>
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And His forgiving love<br>
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Far as the east is from the west,<br>
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Doth all our guilt remove.</p>
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<p>The pity of the Lord,<br>
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To those that fear His Name,<br>
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Is such as tender parents feel;<br>
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He knows our feeble frame.</p>
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<p>Our days as are the grass,<br>
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Or like the morning flower;<br>
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If one sharp blast sweep o’er the field<br>
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It withers in an hour.</p>
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<p>But Thy compassions, Lord,<br>
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To endless years endure;<br>
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And children’s children ever find<br>
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Thy words of promise sure.</p>
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</div>
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