O THOU, whose presence went before <br />Our fathers in their weary way, <br />As with Thy chosen moved of yore <br />The fire by night, the cloud by day! <br />When from each temple of the free, <br />A nation's song ascends to Heaven, <br />Most Holy Father! unto Thee <br />May not our humble prayer be given? <br />Thy children all, though hue and form <br />Are varied in Thine own good will, <br />With Thy own holy breathings warm, <br />And fashioned in Thine image still. <br />We thank Thee, Father! hill and plain <br />Around us wave their fruits once more, <br />And clustered vine, and blossomed grain, <br />Are bending round each cottage door. <br />And peace is here; and hope and love <br />Are round us as a mantle thrown, <br />And unto Thee, supreme above, <br />The knee of prayer is bowed alone. <br />But oh, for those this day can bring, <br />As unto us, no joyful thrill; <br />For those who, under Freedom's wing, <br />Are bound in Slavery's fetters still: <br />For those to whom Thy written word <br />Of light and love is never given; <br />For those whose ears have never heard <br />The promise and the hope of heaven! <br />For broken heart, and clouded mind, <br />Whereon no human mercies fall; <br />Oh, be Thy gracious love inclined, <br />Who, as a Father, pitiest all! <br />And grant, O Father! that the time <br />Of Earth's deliverance may be near, <br />When every land and tongue and clime <br />The message of Thy love shall hear; <br />When, smitten as with fire from heaven, <br />The captive's chain shall sink in dust, <br />And to his fettered soul be given <br />The glorious freedom of the just!<br /><br />John Greenleaf Whittier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hymn-i/
