God of the chang­ing year, whose arm of pow­er
In safe­ty leads through dan­ger’s dark­est hour,
Here in Thy tem­ple bow Thy child­ren down,
To bless Thy mer­cy and Thy might to own.

Thine are the beams that cheer us on our way,
And pour around the glad­den­ing light of day;
Thine is the night, and the fair orbs that shine
To cheer its hours of dark­ness; all are Thine.

If round our path the thorns of sor­row grew,
And mor­tal friends were faith­less, Thou wast true;
Did sick­ness shake the frame, or ang­uish tear
The wound­ed spirit, Thou was pre­sent there.

O lend Thine ear, and lift our voice to Thee;
Where’er we dwell, still let Thy mer­cy be;
From year to year still near­er to Thy shrine
Draw our frail hearts, and make them whol­ly Thine.