O Lord, the Sav­ior and de­fense
Of us Thy chos­en race,
From age to age Thou still hast been
Our sure abid­ing place.

Before Thou brought’st the mount­ains forth,
Or th’earth and world didst frame,
Thou al­ways wert the migh­ty God,
And ev­er art the same.

Thou turn­est man, O Lord, to dust,
Of which he first was made;
And when Thou speak’st the word, Re­turn,
’Tis in­stant­ly ob­eyed.

For in Thy sight, a thou­sand years
Are like a day that’s past,
Or like a watch in dead of night,
Whose hours un­mind­ed waste.

Thou sweep’st us off as with a flood,
We van­ish hence like dreams;
At first we grow like grass that feels
The sun’s re­viv­ing beams:

But how­so­ev­er fresh and fair
Its morn­ing beau­ty shows;
’Tis all cut down and wi­thered quite
Before the ev­en­ing close.

We by Thine an­ger are con­sumed,
And by Thy wrath dis­mayed;
Our pub­lic crimes and sec­ret sins
Before Thy sight are laid.

Beneath Thy an­ger’s sad ef­fects
Our droop­ing days we spend;
Our un­re­gard­ed years break off,
Like tales that quick­ly end.

Our term of time is se­ven­ty years,
An age that few sur­vive;
But if, with more than com­mon strength,
To eigh­ty we ar­rive;

Yet then our boast­ed strength de­cays,
To sor­row turned and pain;
So soon the slen­der thread is cut,
And we no more re­main.

But who Thy an­ger’s dread ef­fects
Does, as he ought, re­vere?
And yet Thy wrath does fall or rise,
As more or less we fear.

So teach us, Lord, th’un­cer­tain sum
Of our short days to mind,
That to true wis­dom all our hearts
May ev­er be in­clined.

O to Thy ser­vants, Lord, re­turn,
And speed­ily re­lent!
As we of our mis­deeds, do Thou
Of our just doom re­pent.

To sa­tis­fy and cheer our souls,
Thy ear­ly mer­cy send;
That we may all our days to come,
In joy and com­fort spend.

Let hap­py times with large amends
Dry up our for­mer tears,
Or eq­ual at the least the term
Of our af­flict­ed years.

To all Thy ser­vants, Lord, let this
Thy won­drous work be known,
And to our off­spring yet un­born,
Thy glo­ri­ous pow­er be shown.

Let Thy bright rays up­on us shine,
Give Thou our work suc­cess;
The glo­ri­ous work we have in hand
Do Thou vouch­safe to bless.