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.