O Thou who seal­est up the past,
The days slip from us, and the years
Grow si­lent with their hopes and fears;
’Tis Thine to keep all things at last.

We have not done the things we would,
A blot­ted page we ren­der back;
And yet, what­e’er our work may lack,
Thy work goes on, and Thou art good.

Thou mov­est in the mov­ing years;
Wherever man is, there Thou art,
To ov­er­rule his feeb­ler part,
And bring a bless­ing out of tears.

We know what bless­ings had their birth
In thy great pur­pose, and we see
What ev­il cus­toms touched by Thee
Are mol­der­ing ruins in the earth.

Thy hand has been in ev­ery age,
To shape the ways of men, and teach
The gen­er­ations, each to each,
To leave a nob­ler her­it­age.

I know the word is in Thy breath
That guides the wheels of time; I know
’Tis Thou that guidest them, although
They bear me tow­ard the Vale of Death.

And as the sil­ent sea­sons pass
Along their well ap­point­ed way,
Nor any hand is raised to stay
The fall­ing sands, the emp­ty­ing glass,

I own Thy pro­mise, for I find
In all Thy deal­ings ev­er­more
Thou teach­est that the things be­fore
Are bet­ter than the things be­hind.

A nob­ler lot awaits the soul
Than that of dy­ing star and sun;
Our lives do not in circ­les run,
But ev­er on­ward to a goal.

Thou op­en­er of the years to be,
Let me not lose, in woe or weal
The touch of Thy strong hand I feel
Upholding and di­rect­ing me.