Lord, Thou hast been Thy peo­ple’s rest
Through ev­ery ge­ne­ra­tion:
Their re­fuge sure when per­il pressed,
Their hope in tri­bu­la­tion:
Thou, ere the mount­ains sprang to birth,
Or ever Thou hadst formed the earth,
Art God from ev­er­last­ing.

The sons of men re­turn to clay
When Thou the word hast spok­en,
As with a tor­rent swept away,
Gone like a vi­sion brok­en.
A thou­sand years are in Thy sight
But as the pass­ing hours of night,
Or yes­ter­day de­part­ed.

Fair laugh the flow­ers, whose beau­ty new
The dews of morn­ing cher­ish:
Pale ev­en­ing comes; with fad­ing hue
They hang their heads and per­ish.
So fade we in Thy right­eous wrath:
Thine eyes be­hold our sec­ret path,
Our deeds and thoughts of ev­il.

Soon, as a breath, the times are past
Of those who seem the strong­est:
And if to se­ven­ty years they last,
Or four­score, at the long­est,
Life’s proud­est strength is sor­row still.
Lord, who re­veres Thy migh­ty will?
Who right­ly dreads thy an­ger?

O teach us so to count our days
That we may prize them du­ly;
So guide our feet in wis­dom’s ways
That we may love Thee tru­ly:
Return, O Lord, our griefs be­hold,
And with Thy good­ness, as of old,
O sa­tis­fy us ear­ly.

For long have been our days of pain,
And long our years of sad­ness:
To us dis­play Thy grace again,
And to our sons Thy glad­ness;
O Lord our God, with fa­vor­ing love
Shine forth; our han­di­work ap­prove,
And bless our dai­ly la­bor.