1 Up, O my soul, and bless the Lord! O God, My God, how great, how very great art thou! Honour and majesty have their abode With thee, and crown thy brow. 2 Thou cloth'st thyself with light as with a robe, And the high, glorious heavens thy mighty hand Doth spread like curtains round about this globe Of air, and sea, and land. 3 The beams of thy bright chambers thou dost lay In the deep waters, which no eye can find; The clouds thy chariots are, and thy pathway The wings of the swift wind. 4 In thy celestial, gladsome messages Despatched to holy souls, sick with desire And love of thee, each willing angel is Thy minister in fire. 5 Thy arm unmoveable for ever laid And founded the firm earth; then with the deep As with a vail thou hidd'st it; thy floods played Above the mountains steep. 6 At thy rebuke they fled, at the known voice Of their Lord's thunder they retired apace: Some up the mountains passed by secret ways, Some downwards to their place. 7 For thou to them a bound hast set, a bound Which, though but sand, keeps in and curbs whole seas: There all their fury, foam, and hideous sound, Must languish and decrease. 8 And as thy care bounds these, so thy rich love Doth broach the earth; and lesser brooks lets forth, Which run from hills to valleys, and improve Their pleasure and their worth. 9 These to the beasts of every field give drink; There the wild asses swallow the cool spring: And birds amongst the branches on their brink Their dwellings have, and sing. 10 Thou from thy upper springs above, from those Chambers of rain, where heaven's large bottles lie, Dost water the parched hills, whose breaches close, Healed by the showers from high. 11 Grass for the cattle, and herbs for man's use Thou mak'st to grow; these, blessed by thee, the earth Brings forth, with wine, oil, bread; all which infuse To man's heart strength and mirth. 12 Thou giv'st the trees their greenness, even to those Cedars in Lebanon, in whose thick boughs The birds their nests build; though the stork doth choose The fir-trees for her house. 13 To the wild goats the high hills serve for folds, The rocks give conies a retiring place: Above them the cool moon her known course holds, And the sun runs his race. 14 Thou makest darkness, and then comes the night, In whose thick shades and silence each wild beast Creeps forth, and, pinched for food, with scent and sight Hunts in an eager quest. 15 The lion's whelps, impatient of delay, Roar in the covert of the woods, and seek Their meat from thee, who dost appoint the prey, And feed'st them all the week.