They fly forgotten, as a dream dies at the opening day.

Our God, Our Help

by Isaac Watts

Our God, our help in ages past,

   Our hope for years to come,

Our shelter from the stormy blast,

   And our eternal home:

Under the shadow of thy throne

   Thy saints have dwelt secure;

Sufficient is thine arm alone,

   And our defense is sure.

Before the hills in order stood

   Or earth received her frame,

From everlasting thou art God,

   To endless years the same.

Thy word commands our flesh to dust,

   “Return, ye sons of men”;

All nations rose from earth at first,

   And turn to earth again.

A thousand ages in thy sight

   Are like an evening gone;

Short as the watch that ends the night

   Before the rising sun.

The busy tribes of flesh and blood,

   With all their lives and cares,

Are carried downwards by thy flood,

   And lost in following years.

Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

   Bears all its sons away;

They fly forgotten, as a dream

   Dies at the opening day.

Like flowery fields the nations stand,

   Pleased with the morning light;

The flowers beneath the mower’s hand

   Lie withering e’er ’tis night.

Our God, our help in ages past,

   Our hope for years to come,

Be thou our guard while troubles last,

   And our eternal home.