O Thou, whose presence went before
Our fathers in their weary way,
As with Thy chosen moved of yore
The fire by night, the cloud by day!
When, from each temple of the free,
A nation’s song ascends to heaven,
Most holy Father, unto Thee
Now let our humble prayer be given.
Sweet peace be here; and hope and love
Be round us as a mantle thrown,
As unto Thee, supreme above,
The knee of prayer is bowed alone.
And grant, O 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;—
When, smitten as with fire from heaven,
The captive’s chain shall sink in dust,
And to his fettered soul be given
The glorious freedom of the just.