Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling place
Through all the ages of our race;
Before the mountains had their birth,
Or Thou hadst formed the earth;
From everlasting Thou art God,
To everlasting our abode.

Man soon yields up his fleeting breath
Before the swelling tide of death;
Like transient sleep his seasons pass,
His life is like the tender grass,
Luxuriant ’neath the morning sun
And withered ere the day is done.

Man in Thine anger is consumed,
And unto grief and sorrow doomed;
Before Thy clear and searching sight
Our secret sins are brought to light;
Beneath Thy wrath we pine and die,
Our life expiring like a sigh.

For threescore years and ten we wait,
Or fourscore years if strength be great;
But grief and toil attend life’s day,
And soon our spirits fly away;
O who with true and reverent thought
Can fear Thine anger as he ought?

O teach Thou us to count our days
And set our hearts on wisdom’s ways
Turn, Lord, to us in our distress
In pity now Thy servants bless;
Let mercy’s dawn dispel our night,
And all our day with joy be bright.

O send the day of joy and light,
For long has been our sorrow’s night;
Afflicted through the weary years,
We wait until Thy help appears;
In all Thy children Thou abide,
In us let God be glorified.

So let there be on us bestowed
The beauty of the Lord our God;
The work accomplished by our hand
Establish Thou, and make it stand;
Yea, let our hopeful labor be
Established evermore by Thee.

Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling place
In every generation;
Thy people still have known Thy grace,
And blessed Thy consolation;
Through every age Thou heard’st our cry;
Through every age we found Thee nigh,
Our Strength and our Salvation.

Our cleaving sins we oft have wept,
And oft Thy patience provèd;
But still Thy faith we fast have kept,
Thy Name we still have lovèd;
And Thou hast kept and loved us well,
Hast granted us in Thee to dwell,
Unshaken, unremovèd.

No, nothing from those arms of love
Shall Thine own people sever;
Our Helper never will remove,
Our God will fail us never.
Thy people, Lord, have dwelt in Thee,
Our dwelling place Thou still wilt be,
For ever and for ever.

Lord, through all the generations
Of the children of our race,
In our fears and tribulations,
Thou hast been our dwelling place.
Ere the vast and wide creation
By Thy word was caused to be,
Or the mountains held their station,
Thou art God eternally.

Each succeeding generation
At Thy mighty word appears;
Thou dost count in time’s duration
One day as a thousand years.
Death, with swift and sudden warning,
Calls us from life’s dream away,
Like the grass, green in the morning,
Withered ere the close of day.

Long the clouds of evil lower;
Bless us now with gladsome days;
Let Thy servants see Thy power,
Let their children learn Thy praise.
On us let the grace and beauty
Of the Lord our God remain,
Strengthen us for noble duty
That our work be not in vain.

Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home.

Under the shadow of Thy throne
Thy saints have dwelt secure;
Sufficient is Thine arm alone,
And our defense is sure.

Before the hills in order stood,
Or earth received her frame,
From everlasting Thou art God,
To endless years the same.

Thy Word commands our flesh to dust,
“Return, ye sons of men:”
All nations rose from earth at first,
And turn to earth again.

A thousand ages in Thy sight
Are like an evening gone;
Short as the watch that ends the night
Before the rising sun.

The busy tribes of flesh and blood,
With all their lives and cares,
Are carried downwards by the flood,
And lost in following years.

Time, like an ever rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly, forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the opening day.

Like flowery fields the nations stand
Pleased with the morning light;
The flowers beneath the mower’s hand
Lie withering ere ‘tis night.

Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Be Thou our guard while troubles last,
And our eternal home.

Ere mountains reared their forms sublime,
Or Heav’n and earth in order stood,
Before the birth of ancient time,
From everlasting Thou art God.

A thousand ages, in their flight,
With Thee are as a fleeting day;
Past, present, future, to Thy sight
At once their various scenes display.

But our brief life’s a shadowy dream,
A passing thought that soon is o’er,
That fades with morning’s earliest beam,
And fills the musing mind no more.

To us, O Lord, the wisdom give
Each passing moment so to spend,
That we at length with Thee may live
Where life and bliss shall never end.

Have mercy on us, God most high,
Who lift our hearts to Thee;
Have mercy on us worms of earth,
Most holy Trinity.

Most ancient of all mysteries!
Before Thy throne we lie;
Have mercy now, most Merciful,
Most holy Trinity.

When heaven and earth were yet unmade,
When time was yet unknown,
Thou, in Thy bliss and majesty,
Didst live and love alone.

Thou wert not born; there was no fount
From which Thy Being flowed;
There is no end which Thou canst reach;
But Thou art simply God.

How wonderful creation is,
The work that Thou didst bless;
And oh, what then must Thou be like,
Eternal Loveliness!

How beautiful the angels are,
The saints how bright in bliss;
But with Thy beauty, Lord, compared,
How dull, how poor is this.

O listen, then, most pitiful,
To Thy poor creature’s heart:
It blesses Thee that Thou art God;
That Thou art what Thou art.

Most ancient of all mysteries!
Still at Thy throne we lie;
Have mercy now, most Merciful,
Most holy Trinity.

Through every age, eternal God,
Thou art our rest, our safe abode;
High was Thy throne ere Heav’n was made,
Or earth Thy humble footstool laid.

Long hadst Thou reigned ere time began,
Or dust was fashioned to a man;
And long Thy kingdom shall endure
When earth and time shall be no more.

But man, weak man, is born to die,
Made up of guilt and vanity;
Thy dreadful sentence, Lord, was just,
Return, ye sinners, to your dust.

A thousand of our years amount
Scarce to a day in Thine account;
Like yesterday’s departed light,
Or the last watch of ending night.

Death, like an overflowing stream,
Sweeps us away; our life’s a dream,
An empty tale, a morning flower,
Cut down and withered in an hour.

Our age to seventy years is set;
How short the time! how frail the state!
And if to eighty we arrive,
We rather sigh and groan than live.

But O how oft Thy wrath appears,
And cuts off our expected years!
Thy wrath awakes our humble dread;
We fear the power that strikes us dead.

Teach us, O Lord, how frail is man;
And kindly lengthen out our span,
Till a wise care of piety
Fit us to die, and dwell with Thee.