1 Tell me, oh, ye gentle zephyrs,
Sighing through the lonely vale;
Tell me now where sleep the echoes,
Sounding once o’er hill and dale;
Voice of prayer, all music laden,
Childish laughter, gladsome tread;
Hopes, fond hopes so rudely severed,
All your bloom and beauty fled.
2 Many are the sad hearts mourning
For the erring ones tonight,
Many are the hearth-stones lonely,
In the shadow’s misty light;
God in heaven, God our Father,
Hear the vows we make to thee,
Ne’er to cease our cries and pleading
Till our rum cursed land is free.
3 Free! O weeping wives and mothers;
Free! ye children born to shame;
Free! ye husbands, sons, and brothers
From the tyrant’s galling chains;
Oh, ye winds and waves of ocean,
Waft the tidings o’er the sea,
God, our God has heard our pleading,
All the world shall yet be free.