158. L. M. Watts. The Same. Ps.145.
1 My God, my King, thy various praise
Shall fill the remnant of my days;
Thy grace employ my humble tongue
Till death and glory raise the song.
2 The wings of every hour shall bear
Some thankful tribute to thine ear;
And every setting sun shall see
New works of duty done for thee.
3 Let distant times and nations raise
The long succession of thy praise,
And unborn ages make my song
The joy and labor of their tongue.
4 But who can speak thy wondrous deeds?
Thy greatness all our thoughts exceeds
Vast and unsearchable thy ways:
Vast and immortal be thy praise.