(To the choir-master. To the mood of the song, The Wine-presses. A psalm. Of David.)

O Lord, our Master, how the majesty of thy name fills all the earth! Thy greatness is high above heaven itself.

Thou hast made the lips of children, of infants at the breast,✻ vocal with praise, to confound thy enemies; to silence malicious and revengeful tongues.

I look up at those heavens of thine, the work of thy hands, at the moon and the stars, which thou hast set in their places;

what is man that thou shouldst remember him? What is Adam’s breed, that it should claim thy care?

Thou hast placed him only a little below the angels,✻ crowning him with glory and honour,

and bidding him rule over the works of thy hands.

Thou hast put them all under his dominion, the sheep and the cattle, and the wild beasts besides;

the birds in the sky, and the fish in the sea, that travel by the sea’s paths.

O Lord, our Master, how the majesty of thy name fills all the earth!