Beyond Our Works and Days

By Arthur Henry King

Thy word determining

beyond our works and days,

what should we rather sing

than thee, Lord, and thy ways?

Softer the rose and gold

cloud at each close of day;

no fit place for an old

head that is white or gray.

Sharper each whiter hill

against each grayer dawn;

keener each morning chill

that prophesies the sun.

Meet death, not facing west,

but clear in orient light.

Look, not for dusk or rest,

but work in God’s own sight.

The end we must endure

begins; we sing thy praise:

thy word alone is sure

to crown our works and days.