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2 Thine is the hand that moves the spheres,

That wakes the wind, and lifts the sea;
And man, who moves the lord of earth,

Acts but the part assigned by thee. 3 While suppliant crowds implore thine aid,

To thee we raise the humble cry;
Thine altar is the contrite heart,

Thine incense, a repentant sigh.
4 O may our land, in this her hour,

Confess thy hand, and bless the rod,
By penitence make thee her friend,
And find in thee a guardian God!

6 & 4s. M.

722. S. F. Smith.

National Hymn.
1 My country, 't is of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,

Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims' pride,
From every mountain-side

Let freedom ring.
2 My native country, thee -
Land of the noble free

Thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills

Like that above.
3 Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees

Sweet freedom's song;

Let mortal tongues awake;
Let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence break, -

The sound prolong.

4. Our fathers' God, to thee,
Author of liberty,

To thee we sing :
Long may our land be bright
With freedom's holy light;
Protect us by thy might,

Great God, our King.

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C. M.

723.

WREFORD.

Prayer for our Country.
i Lord! while for all mankind we pray,

Of every clime and coast,
O hear us for our native land,

The land we love the most.

2. O guard our shores from every foe,

With peace our borders bless,
With prosperous times our cities crown,

Our fields with plenteousness. 3 Unite us in the sacred love

Of knowledge, truth, and thee; And let our hills and valleys shout

The songs of liberty.

4 Here may religion shed her light

On days of rest and toil, And piety and virtue reign,

And bless our native soil.

5 Lord of the nations! thus to thee

Our country we commend ;
Be thou her refuge and her trust,

Her everlasting friend.

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i In pleasant lands have fallen the lines

That bound our goodly heritage;
And, safe beneath our sheltering vines,
Our youth is blessed, and soothed our age.

2 What thanks, O God, to thee are due,

That thou didst plant our fathers here, And watch and guard them as they grew, A vineyard to the Planter dear!

3 The toils they bore our ease have wrought;
They sowed in tears, — in joy we reap;
The birthright they so dearly bought,
We 'll guard till we with them shall sleep.

4 Thy kindness to our fathers shown,

In weal and woe, through all the past, Their grateful sons, O God, shall own, While here their name and race shall last.

C. M.

725.

TATE & BRADY.

God our Deliverer.

1 O LORD, our fathers oft have told,

In our attentive ears,
Thy wonders in their days performed,

Ånd in more ancient years.

2 ’T was not their courage, nor their sword,

To them salvation gave; 'T was not their number, nor their strength,

That did their country save : 3 But thy right hand, - thy powerful arm,

Whose succor they implored ; Thy providence protected them,

Who thy great name adored. 4 As thee their God our fathers owned,

So thou art still our King; 0, therefore, as thou didst to them,

To us deliverance bring.
5 To thee the glory we 'll ascribe,

From whom salvation came;
In God, our shield, we will rejoice,

And ever bless thy name.

8 & 68. M.

726.

HEBER. Prayer for our Country. i From foes that would the land devour;

From guilty pride, and lust of power;
From wild sedition's lawless hour ;

From yoke of slavery;
From blinded zeal, by faction led;
From giddy change, by fancy bred;
From poisoned error's serpent head, -

Good Lord, preserve us free!
2 Defend, O God, with guardian hand,

The laws and rulers of our land,
And grant thy churches grace to stand

In faith and unity!

Thy Spirit's help of thee we crave, That thy Messiah, sent to save, Returning to the world, might have

A people serving thee!

6 & 4s. M.

727.

PIERPONT.

The Pilgrim Fathers.

i Gone are those great and good
Who here, in peril, stood

And raised their hymn.
Peace to the reverend dead!
The light, that on their head
Two hundred years have shed,

Shall ne'er grow dim.
2 Ye temples, that to God
Rise where our fathers trod,

Guard well your trust, —
The faith, that dared the sea,
The truth, that made them free,
Their cherished purity,

Their garnered dust.
3 Thou high and holy One,
Whose care for sire and son

All nature fills;
While day shall break and close,
While night her crescent shows,
O let thy light repose

On these our hills!

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