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!

 ... 

Thy children all though hue and form
Are varied in Thine own good will
With Thy own holy breathings warm,
And fashioned in Thine image still.

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.

 ... 

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 broken heart, and clouded mind,
Whereon no human mercies fall
Oh, be Thy gracious love inclined,
Who, as a father, pitiest all!

Oh 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.

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!