O Thou to Whom, in Ancient Time

O Thou

to whom

in an­cient time

The lyre of He­brew bards was strung

Whom kings ad­ored in song sub­lime

And pro­phets praised with glow­ing tongue.

Not now in Zi­on’s height alone

The fa­vored wor­shiper may dwell

Nor where

at sul­try noon

Thy Son

Sat wea­ry by the pa­tr­iarch’s well.

From ev­ery place be­low the skies

The grate­ful song

the fer­vent pray­er

The in­cense of the heart

may rise

To Heaven

and find ac­cept­ance there.

In this

Thy house

whose doors we now

For so­cial wor­ship

first un­fold

To Thee the sup­pli­ant throng shall bow

While circ­ling years on years are rolled.

To Thee shall age

with sno­wy hair

And strength and beau­ty

bend the knee;

And child­hood lisp

with rev­er­ent air

Its prais­es and its pray­ers to Thee.

O Thou to whom

in an­cient time

The lyre of pro­phet bards was strung

To Thee at last

in ev­ery clime

Shall tem­ples rise

and praise be sung.