John Greenleaf Whittier
This Document is on The Quaker Writings Home Page.
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!
When from each temple of the free,
A nation's song ascend to Heaven,
Most Holy Father! unto Thee,
May not our humble prayer be
given?
Thy children still, 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 land plain
Around us wave their fruits once
more,
And clustered vine and blossomed
grain
Are bending round each cottage
door.
And peace is here; and hope and love
Are round us as a mantle thrown,
And unto Thee, supreme above,
The knee of prayer is bowed alone.
But oh, for those tis day can bring,
As unto us, no joyful thrill;
For those who, under Freedom's
wing,
Are bound in Slavery's fetters still:
For those to whom Thy written word
Of light and love is never given;
For those whose ears have never heard
The promise and the hope of heaven!
For broken heart, and clouded mind,
Whereon no human mercies fall;
Oh, be Thy gracious love inclined,
Who, as a Father, pitiest all!
And grant, O 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 chains shall sink in
dust,
And to his fettered soul be given
The glorious freedom of the just!