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We thank Thee, Father!—hill and plain
Around us wave their fruits once more,
And clustered vine, and blossomed grain,
Are bending round each cottage door.
And peace is here—and hope and love
Are round us as a mantle thrown,
And unto Thee, supreme above,
The knee of prayer is bowed alone.
But, Oh, for those, this day can bring,
As unto us, no joyful thrill—
For those, who, under Freedom's wing,
Are bound in Slavery's fetters still:—
For those to whom Thy living word
Of light and love is never given—
For those whose ears have never heard
The promise and the hope of heaven!
For broken heart—and clouded mind,
Whereon no human mercies fall—
Oh, be thy gracious love inclined,
Who, as a father, pitiest all!—
And grant, Oh, Father! that the time
Of Earth's deliverance may be near,
When every land, and tongue, and clime,
The message of Thy love shall hear—
