462b Upton
Bless, O my soul, the living God; Call home thy thoughts, that rove abroad; Let all the pow'rs within me join In work and worship so divine. Bless, O my soul, the God of grace; His favors claim thy highest praise; Let not the wonders He hath wrought Be lost in silence, and forgot. 'Tis He, my soul, that sent His Son To die for crimes which thou hast done: He owns the ransom, and forgives The hourly follies of our lives. |