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.

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.