The woman who, at her table, served fish chowder, would probably sing this in harmony. (A good Baptist would never let a good Offertory pass without oyster crackers and sliced demi-seeded baguette after returning from sawmill yard with salvaged burn-pile pieces.)
Benedícite gentes Dóminum Deum nostrum,
Bless our God, you nations
et obaudíte vocem laudis ejus:
and make the voice of his praise be heard.
qui pósuit ánimam meam ad vitam,
He has set my soul toward life,
et non dedit commovéri pedes meos:
and he has granted that my feet may not be shaken.
Blessed is God,
qui non amóvit deprecatiónem meam,
who has not removed my prayer,
et misericórdiam suam a me,
nor his mercy, from me.
Her mother’s Christian compositions playing from old Emerson victrola with cassette tape in side as errant mosquitoes flew on wrong side of door where daybed had struggled up front steps in true wonder of engineering angles and misdirectional pivoting by three uncredentialed surveyors.
Still, some good chowdah!