Psalms 147
1
for it is pleasant and fitting to praise him.
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He gathers together the outcasts of Israel.
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and binds up their wounds.
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He calls them all by their names.
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His understanding is infinite.
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He brings the wicked down to the ground.
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Sing praises on the harp to our God,
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who makes grass grow on the mountains.
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and for the young ravens when they call.
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He takes no pleasure in the legs of a man.
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in those who hope in his loving kindness.
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Praise your God, Zion!
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He has blessed your children within you.
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He fills you with the finest of the wheat.
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His word runs very swiftly.
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and scatters frost like ashes.
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Who can stand before his cold?
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He causes his wind to blow, and the waters flow.
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his statutes and his ordinances to Israel.
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Praise Yah!