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 aloneThy favored worshipers may dwell,Nor where, at sultry noon, thy SonSat 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 riseTo 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 airIts praises and its prayers to thee.