Another year, another year,
Unfolds its page of hope and fear!
Where, at its close, shall we appear
Who now are congregated here.
Perhaps, with those now passed away,
We may be laid deep in the earth;
Perchance, 'mid foreign scenes, we may
Forget the land that gave us birth.
Perhaps upon the stormy seas,
Where raging billows wildly roll,
The terrors of despair may seize
Upon the dark and guilty soul.
But wheresoe'er our footsteps tend,
'Mid tropic sands, or polar snow,
May we remember that great Friend
Who guards us wheresoe'er we go.
Whose mighty hand hath been our stay
Through scenes of trouble, doubt and fear.
And suffered us, poor worms of clay,
To enter on another year.