Psaumes 147
Prayse ye the Lorde, for it is a good thyng: sing psalmes vnto our Lorde, for it is a pleasaunt thing, his praise is to be desired.
God buildeth vp Hierusalem: he wyll gather together the Israelites that were banished.
He healeth those that are broken in heart: he wrappeth vp their sorowes.
He counteth the number of the starres: he geueth vnto them all names.
Great is our Lorde, and great is his power: his vnderstandyng is infinite.
God setteth vp the meeke: he bringeth the vngodly downe to the grounde.
Syng ye vnto God with a confession: syng psalmes vpon the Harpe vnto our Lorde.
Who couereth the heauen with cloudes: who prepareth rayne for the earth, who maketh grasse to growe vppon the mountaynes.
He geueth vnto cattell their foode: euen vnto Rauens which call for it.
He hath no pleasure in the strength of an horse: he delighteth not in the legges of a man.
God delyghteth in them that feare him: and in them that put their trust in his mercie.
Prayse God O Hierusalem: prayse thy Lorde O Sion.
For he maketh fast the barres of thy gates: he blesseth thy children within thee.
He maketh peace in thy borders: he fylleth thee with good corne.
He sendeth foorth his commaundement vpon the earth: his word runneth very swiftly.
He geueth snowe so whyte as wooll: he scattereth the hoare frost like asshes.
He casteth foorth his yse lyke fragmentes: who is able to abide his frost?
He sendeth foorth his worde and melteth them: he bloweth with his winde, and the waters flowe.
He declareth his worde vnto Iacob: his statutes & ordinaunces vnto Israel.
He hath not dealt so with euery nation: neither haue they the knowledge of his iudgementes. Prayse ye the Lorde.