Poems of the late Francis S. Key, Esq., . | ||
94
Hymn
FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY, 1832.
Before the Lord we bow—
The God who reigns above,
And rules the world below,
Boundless in power and love.
Our thanks we bring,
In joy and praise,
Our hearts we raise
To heaven's high King.
The God who reigns above,
And rules the world below,
Boundless in power and love.
Our thanks we bring,
In joy and praise,
Our hearts we raise
To heaven's high King.
The nation thou hast blest
May well thy love declare,
Enjoying peace and rest,
Protected by thy care.
For this fair land,
For this bright day,
Our thanks we pay—
Gifts of thine hand!
May well thy love declare,
Enjoying peace and rest,
Protected by thy care.
95
For this bright day,
Our thanks we pay—
Gifts of thine hand!
Our fathers sought thee, Lord!
And on thy help relied;
Thou heard'st and gav'st the word,
And all their need supplied.
Led by thy hand
To victory,
They hailed a free
And rescued land.
And on thy help relied;
Thou heard'st and gav'st the word,
And all their need supplied.
Led by thy hand
To victory,
They hailed a free
And rescued land.
God of our sires! that hand
Be now, as then, displayed
To give this favored land
Thy never-failing aid.
Still may it be
Thy fixed abode!
Be thou our God!
Thy people we!
Be now, as then, displayed
To give this favored land
Thy never-failing aid.
96
Thy fixed abode!
Be thou our God!
Thy people we!
May every mountain height,
Each vale and forest green,
Shine in thy word's pure light,
And its rich fruits be seen!
May every tongue
Be tuned to praise,
And join to raise
A grateful song!
Each vale and forest green,
Shine in thy word's pure light,
And its rich fruits be seen!
May every tongue
Be tuned to praise,
And join to raise
A grateful song!
Earth! hear thy Maker's voice,
The great Redeemer own;
Believe, obey, rejoice:
Bright is the promised crown.
Cast down thy pride,
Thy sin deplore,
And bow before
The crucified.
The great Redeemer own;
Believe, obey, rejoice:
Bright is the promised crown.
97
Thy sin deplore,
And bow before
The crucified.
And when in power he comes,
O, may our native land,
From all its rending tombs,
Send forth a glorious band!
A countless throng
Ever to sing,
To heaven's high King,
Salvation's song!
O, may our native land,
From all its rending tombs,
Send forth a glorious band!
A countless throng
Ever to sing,
To heaven's high King,
Salvation's song!
Poems of the late Francis S. Key, Esq., . | ||