O 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,
still may we dwell 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.
A thousand ages, in thy sight,
are like an evening gone;
short as the watch that ends the night,
before the rising sun.
Time, like an ever rolling stream,
bears all who breathe away;
they fly forgotten, as a dream
dies at the opening day.
O God, our help in ages past,
our hope for years to come;
be thou our guide while life shall last,
and our eternal home.
-- Isaac Watts
I attended a wedding recently where this song was sung. My how I've missed it over the years. What a vision to sing such a thing like this at a wedding. Pure vision.
And, perhaps, I recognized more of its sweep because of two other recent events, one another kind of beginning and another hinting at a possible ending. The former I referenced in yesterday's post regarding my son. The latter regarding the open-heart surgery of my 71 year-old mother. The juxtaposition of the two and all their possibilities laid right next to something like a wedding that wants to be built on this kind of God. What a wonder. What a mystery. What a stopping. What a worshiping.
