I'm thanking you, God, from a full heart, I'm writing the book on your wonders.
I'm whistling, laughing, and jumping for joy; I'm singing your song, High God.
The day my enemies turned tail and ran, they stumbled on you and fell on their faces.
You took over and set everything right; when I needed you, you were there, taking charge.
You blow the whistle on godless nations; you throw dirty players out of the game, wipe their names right off the roster.
Enemies disappear from the sidelines, their reputation trashed, their names erased from the halls of fame.
God holds the high center, he sees and sets the world's mess right.
He decides what is right for us earthlings, gives people their just deserts.
God's a safe-house for the battered, a sanctuary during bad times.
The moment you arrive, you relax; you're never sorry you knocked.
Sing your songs to Zion-dwelling God, tell his stories to everyone you meet:
How he tracks down killers yet keeps his eye on us, registers every whimper and moan.
Be kind to me, God; I've been kicked around long enough. Once you've pulled me back from the gates of death,
I'll write the book on Hallelujahs; on the corner of Main and First I'll hold a street meeting; I'll be the song leader; we'll fill the air with salvation songs.
They're trapped, those godless countries, in the very snares they set, Their feet all tangled in the net they spread.
They have no excuse; the way God works is well-known. The cunning machinery made by the wicked has maimed their own hands.
The wicked bought a one-way ticket to hell.
No longer will the poor be nameless - no more humiliation for the humble.
Up, God! Aren't you fed up with their empty strutting? Expose these grand pretensions!
Shake them up, God! Show them how silly they look.