Blest be th’Eternal In­fi­nite!
Whose skill conducts this roll­ing sphere,
Who rules our day, who guards our night,
And guides the swift, re­volv­ing year!

Our race are falling every hour,
While we dis­ting­uished yet ap­pear:
’Tis of Thy match­less love and pow­er.
That we are spared an­oth­er year.

Oh! for a sweet re­fresh­ing time;
Father! Thy child­ren wish Thee near:
Come, and our joys shall be sub­lime,
While we be­gin an­oth­er year.

Now may Thy Spi­rit’s love re­veal,
And make our heav’n­ly pros­pects clear;
Our in­ter­est in them may we feel,
While we pass on from year to year.

May that good Spi­rit be our guide,
During our stay as pil­grims here;
Nor let us from our God back­slide,
As we have done the for­mer year.

Strengthen our faith, in­crease our love,
Fill us with god­ly, fi­li­al fear;
And to Thy wait­ing child­ren prove
Thy grace thro’ ev­ery fleet­ing year,

This truth im­press on ev­ery soul,
That vast eter­ni­ty is near—
That time’s swift mo­ments on­ward roll,
To bring the last…the clos­ing year.

When na­ture in a blaze shall die,
Or death con­clude our be­ing here,
Then to our Je­sus may we fly,
To spend a ne­ver-end­ing year.