Not now, O God, beneath the trees <br />That shade this plain, at night's cold noon <br />Do Indian war-songs load the breeze, <br />Or wolves sit howling to the moon. <br /> <br /> <br />The foes, the fears, our fathers felt <br />Have, with our fathers, passed away; <br />And where, in their dark hours, they knelt, <br />We come to praise thee and to pray. <br /> <br /> <br />We praise thee that thou plantedst them, <br />And mad'st thy heavens drop down their dew. <br />We pray that, shooting from their stem, <br />We long may flourish where they grew. <br /> <br /> <br />And, Father, leave us not alone;- <br />Thou hast been, and art still our trust;- <br />Be thou our fortress, till our own <br />Shall mingle with our fathers' dust.<br /><br />John Pierpont<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hymns-and-odes-xi/
