O thou to whom, in ancient time
1
O thou to whom, in ancient time,
The psalmist's sacred harp was strung,
Whom kings adored in songs sublime,
And prophets praised with glowing tongue.
2
Not now on Zion's hight alone
Thy favored worshipers may dwell,
Nor where, at sultry noon, thy Son
Sat weary by the patriarch's well.
3
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.
4
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.