Ancient of Days! The years roll on
Obedient to Thy sole de­cree;
And when their des­tined work is done,
Merge in the past eter­ni­ty.
Thousand of years have sped their way,
Since poised by Thine al­migh­ty hand;
Sun, moon, and stars, in bright ar­ray,
Have wheeled in spheres at Thy com­mand.

Firm as the hea­ven­ly hosts ap­pear,
The lines which fu­ture things por­tray,
Converge in one pre­des­tined year,
When Hea­ven and earth shall pass away.
Whate’er that con­sum­ma­tion be,
Oh, let me, Lord, Thy mer­cy prove
In worlds up­heaved, from dan­ger free,
Within the co­vert of Thy love!

Ancient of Days! ’Tis Thine to say—
Man vain­ly tries to scan th’un­known—
How dist­ant or how near the day,
When we must stand before Thy throne.
Through each new year vouch­safed to me,
Be this my being’s aim and end,
Thine here to live, in Hea­ven with Thee
A blessed eter­ni­ty to spend.