Psalms 69:3

• [Psa 69:3] O God, Our Words Cannot Express

  O God, our words cannot express The pain we feel this day. Enraged, uncertain, we confess Our need to bow and pray. We grieve for all who lost their lives… And for each injured one. We pray for children, husbands, wives Whose grief has just begun. O Lord, we’re called to offer prayer For all our leaders, too. May they, amid such great despair, Be wise in all they do. We trust your mercy and your grace; In you we will not fear! May peace and justice now embrace! Be with your people here!

  Play

  source: Cyberhymnal

Psalms 73:26

• [Psa 73:26] My God, My Portion, And My Love

  My God, my portion, and my love, My everlasting all! I’ve none but Thee in Heav’n above, Or on this earthly ball. What empty things are all the skies, And this inferior clod! There’s nothing here deserves my joys, There’s nothing like my God. In vain the bright, the burning sun Scatters his feeble light; ’Tis Thy sweet beams create my noon; If Thou withdraw, ’tis night. And whilst upon my restless bed, Amongst the shades I roll, If my Redeemer shows His head, ’Tis morning with my soul. To Thee we owe our wealth, and friends, And health, and safe abode: Thanks to Thy Name for meaner things, But they are not my God. How vain a toy is glitt’ring wealth, If once compared to Thee! Or what’s my safety, or my health, Or all my friends to me? Were I possessor of the earth, And called the stars my own, Without Thy graces and Thyself I were a wretch undone. Let others stretch their arms like seas And grasp in all the shore, Grant me the visits of Thy face, And I desire no more.

  Play

  source: Cyberhymnal

Psalms 147:8

• [Psa 147:8] O Sing To The Lord, Whose Bountiful Hand

  O sing to the Lord, whose bountiful hand Again doth accord His gifts to the land. His clouds have shed down their plenteousness here, His goodness shall crown the hopes of the year. In clefts of the hills the founts He hath burst, And poureth their rills through valleys athirst, The river of God the pastures has blest, The dry, withered sod in greenness is dressed. And every fold shall team with its sheep, With harvests of gold the fields shall be deep; The vales shall rejoice with laughter and song, And man’s grateful voice the music prolong. So too may He pour, the Last and the First, His graces in store on spirits athirst, Till, when the great day of harvest hath come, He takes us away to garner at home.

  Play

  source: Cyberhymnal