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Thee, Lord, their refuge, Thee alone,
From earliest age thy People own:
E'er yet the Mountains rose to birth,
E'er yet their form the Heav'ns and Earth
Assum'd, Thou cloth'd in light divine
Hast shone; and shalt for ever shine.
Thou to the sons of human kind
In short extension hast assign'd
Their term, and bid them, at its end,
Low to their native dust descend.
To Thee as Yesterday appears
The prospect of a thousand Years;
And Ages, roll'd successive on,
Quick as the circling Watch are gone,
That, 'midst the hours of soft repose,
With silent lapse unheeded flows.
As plants that drink the nightly show'r,
Refresh'd by sleep's irriguous pow'r
(Thy gift,) at Morn the mortal Race
With joyous bloom, and vernal grace,
Exulting flourish: Ev'ning nigh,
Cropt like the plant, they fade and die.
Thy hand with unremitted force
In mid progression stops our course,
While storms of vengeance round us roll,
And whelm in dread our conscious soul.
Thy eyes our inmost guilt can read,
Thy presence, Lord, on each misdeed,
That studious shuns the sight of day,
Resistless darts its searching ray.
See, fast as words dissolv'd in air,
While crimes on crimes thy Justice dare,
Our days in rapid flight consume,
And bear us onward to the tomb.

Its date to sev'nty years confin'd,
If aught of life remain behind,
If Nature yet a ten years' day
Indulge us, e'er her debt we pay,
Our strength but weakness then we know,
And added Age but lengthen'd Woe.
Strip'd of our pride, we close our span,
And vanish from the eye of Man.

O, who thy terrors justly weights?
Who to thy pow'r submissive pays
Proportion'd homage? Teach us Thou
To count life's moments as they flow,
And, while its end our thoughts survey,
By Wisdom's line to guide our way.

Return, All-potent Lord, return:
How long shall we thy absence mourn?
Return, and let thy wonted Love
With speediest aid our griefs remove:
Thy Mercy, to our Souls reveal'd,
Satiety of bliss shall yield,
And, while thy breath our lise prolongs,
With grateful mirth inspire our tongues:
That Mercy, mightiest Lord, display;
And bid at length some happier day
Compensate with its joys the years
Consign'd to sorrow, groans, and tears.
Author of Good, thy Work mature;
Let Israel's Tribes, in Thee secure,
From age to age the Blessings trace
Intail'd on their distinguish'd Race.
O may the Majesty divine
On Us its mildest beams incline,
And while, new Scenes of hope to view
Disclos'd, our labour we pursue,
Thy fav'ring hand with full success
That hope confirm, that labour bless.