O Thou, to whom, in ancient time

1O Thou, to whom, in ancient time, The psalmist's sacred harp was strung, Whom kings adored in song sublime, And prophets praised with glowing tongue,—

2Not now on Zion's height alone Thy favored worshippers may dwell, Nor where, at sultry noon, thy Son Sat weary by the patriarch's well.

3From every place below the skies, The grateful song, the fervent prayer, The incense of the heart, may rise To Heaven, and find acceptance there.

4To 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.