Poet’s Note

Dear Reader,

This poem was born from the stirring words of Charles Spurgeon and the timeless call of Psalm 103:2 — “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.”

In a world that so quickly forgets, I wanted to remind both you and myself that the God of Abraham, Moses, and David is not a distant figure confined to ancient pages. He is powerfully present in your story — in the rivers you have crossed, the fires you have walked through, the quiet provisions that arrived at just the right moment, and the still waters that have refreshed your weary soul.

May these lines stir your heart to look back with gratitude, to look up with worship, and to look forward with confident hope. The same faithful hand that guided the saints of old is writing beauty into your life today.

Take a moment. Remember. Give thanks. And then join the song.

Forget not all His benefits.

With joy and reverence,

The Poet

O my soul, arise and bless the Lord,

Forget not all His gifts, both great and small;

The ancient tales of mercy we have heard—

Yet ours are written on these hearts as well.

We trace His hand on Abraham’s road,

On Moses by the sea, on David’s throne;

But turn thine eyes upon thy own abode—

The self-same God walks with thee, not alone.

Hast thou not crossed the river, held on high?

Hast thou not passed through fire and felt no flame?

Hast thou not heard His whisper, “It is I,”

When waves rose fierce and fear laid claim?

The God who gave to Solomon his plea,

Who filled the mouth of David with delight,

Hath stooped to thee in thine infirmity

And satisfied thy soul with hidden light.

He makes thee lie in pastures ever green,

Leads by still waters where thy thirst is quenched;

Each dawn a mercy fresh and unforeseen,

Each trial turned to treasure, grace untrenched.

Then weave these mercies into crowns of gold,

Set jewels of thanksgiving in their place;

Let praise like David’s harp, both strong and bold,

Rise sweet and high before the Saviour’s face.

For He who wrought for saints of olden days

Still bares His arm and shows His strength anew;

His mercy, like the morning, never decays—

Eternal, boundless, ever fresh and true.

O my soul, bless the Lord with all thy breath,

And sing until the heavens catch the strain:

“His goodness follows me through life and death—

Forget Him not; exalt His matchless name!”