We worship You, our El Olam,
Eternal God be praised,
You named Yourself the great I Am;
To You our songs are raised.
We sing Your praises, El Shaddai,
And stand in awe of You,
We join the angels praise on high,
And the whole of earth here too.
We celebrate life, Lord Elohim,
We give thanks to You for Your love,
We remember the death and life of Him,
Who descended from above.
We bow before El Elyon,
Exalt and praise Your Name,
For time to come and time that’s gone,
You still remain the same.
Jehovah-Jireh meets our need,
As in the days of yore,
When the hungry Israelites He’d feed
With manna, — and quail, when they asked for more.
Jehovah-Nissi leads the march,
His praises waving high;
Above the faithful, His blessings arch,
Like banners in the sky.
He sends His peace to bless all men,
In His Name, Jehovah-Shalom,
He fills our hearts with peace, and then,
He gently leads us home.
Jehovah-Rapha heals our ills,
As He did so long ago,
It’s satan’s lies, – and sin that kills,
Not the Lord who loves us so.
We claim our righteousness from Him,
Our Jehovah- Tsidkenu,
From His death upon a hewn limb,
Not the things that we can do.
For us as for Jerusalem,
He’s near, not off afar,
No wonder that they called Him —
His people’s Jehovah-Shammah.
Yahweh-Saboath is His Name,
Our ruler over all;
From age to age He stays the same, —
Still speaks redemption’s call.
These names describe the Father,
Who sent to us the Son;
Than crush us, He would rather,
We be rejoined as One.
There’s more names spoken in the Word,
Than ever we could learn;
There’s more love given by the Lord,
Than ever we could earn.
And we might say Jehovah,
Or Lord, or Adonai,
Or simply call Him, Father,
As we lift His praises high.
His Names teach of the power,
And glory of our King,
Who’ll on us blessings shower,
When to Him our praise we bring.
Each Name is to be honoured,
And reverently said;
It is His Son, who suffered,
And for our sins who bled.
We praise Thee, Abba, Father,
For all the things You do;
But mostly God we’d rather,
Just praise You ‘cos You’re You.

© Ailsa Yates April/May 2000