Man Frail, and God Eternal
by Isaace Watts (1674-1748)

O 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 Defence is sure.

Before the Hills in order stood,
⁠      Or Earth receiv’d 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 thy 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 flow’ry Fields the Nations stand
      Pleas’d with the Morning-light;
The Flowers beneath the Mower’s Hand
      Ly withering e’er ’tis Night.

O God, our Help in Ages past,
⁠      Our Hope for Years to come,
Be thou our Guard while Troubles last,
⁠      And our eternal Home.

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