O Thou, the first, the greatest frien

Of all the human race!

Whose strong right hand has ever been

Their stay and dwelling place!

Before the mountains heav'd their heads

Beneath Thy forming hand,

Before this ponderous globe itself

Arose at Thy command;

That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds

This universal frame,

From countless, unbeginning time

Was ever still the same.

Those mighty periods of years

Which seem to us so vast,

Appear no more before Thy sight

Than yesterday that's past.

Thou giv'st the word: Thy creature, man,

Is to existence brought;

Again Thou say'st, "Ye sons of men,

Return ye into nought!"

Thou layest them, with all their cares,

In everlasting sleep;

As with a flood Thou tak'st them off

With overwhelming sweep.

They flourish like the morning flow'

In beauty's pride array'd;

But long ere night cut down it lies

All wither'd and decay'd.