O Lord, and yet ano­ther year
Hath sped its flight on si­lent wing,
And all that marked its brief ca­reer
Hath passed from mor­tal reck­on­ing.

But grav­en as with ir­on pen,
All-see­ing God, Thy re­cords stand;
All thoughts, and words, and deeds of men,
Unnumbered as the ocean sand.

For all Thy grace, and pa­tient love,
Unwearied still, and still the same,
For all our hopes of joys ab­ove,
We laud and bless Thy ho­ly name.

We bless Thee for each ha­ppy soul
Throughout ano­ther fleet­ing year,
Or by Thy quick­en­ing grace made whole,
Or part­ed in Thy faith and fear.

Still bear with us, and bless us still,
And long as in this world we stay,
Oh, let us love Thy per­fect will,
And keep the true and liv­ing way.

So, when the roll­ing stream of time
Hath o­pened to a bound­less sea,
Loud shall we raise that song sub­lime—
All hon­or, glo­ry, praise to Thee!