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.
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