542 America. 6s & 4s.

_America._ (1226)

My country! 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing: Land where my fathers died!

Land of the pilgrim's pride!

From ev'ry mountain side Let freedom ring!

2 My native country, thee,-- Land of the n.o.ble, 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' G.o.d! 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 G.o.d, our King!

Samuel F. Smith, 1832.

543 America. 6s & 4s.

_Our Native Land._ (1227)

G.o.d bless our native land!

Firm may she ever stand, Through storm and night; When the wild tempests rave, Ruler of winds and wave!

Do thou our country save, By thy great might.

2 For her our prayer shall rise To G.o.d above the skies; On him we wait; Thou, who art ever nigh, Guardian with watchful eye!

To thee aloud we cry,-- G.o.d save the state!

John S. Dwight, 1844.

544 America. 6s & 4s.

_The Poor._

Lord, from thy blessed throne, Sorrow look down upon!

G.o.d save the poor!

Teach them true liberty, Make them from tyrants free, Let their homes happy be!

G.o.d save the poor!

2 The arms of wicked men Do thou with might restrain-- G.o.d save the poor!

Raise thou their lowliness, Succor thou their distress, Thou whom the meanest bless!

G.o.d save the poor!

3 Give them stanch honesty, Let their pride manly be-- G.o.d save the poor!

Help them to hold the right, Give them both truth and might, Lord of all life and light!

G.o.d save the poor!

Nicoll.

545 Our Glad Jubilee. P.M.

_Thanksgiving Anniversary._

Wake, wake the song! our glad jubilee Once more we hail with sweet melody, Bringing our hymns of praise unto thee, O most holy Lord!

Praise for thy care by day and by night, Praise for the homes by love made so bright; Thanks for the pure and soul-cheering light Beaming from thy word.

Then wake, wake the song! our glad jubilee Once more we hail with sweet melody, Bringing our hymns of praise unto thee, O most holy Lord!

2 Marching to Zion, dear blessed home!

Lord! by thy mercy hither we come; Guide us, we pray, where'er we may roam, Keep us in thy fear; Fill ev'ry soul with love all divine, Now cause thy face upon us to shine; Grant that our hearts may be truly thine All the coming year.

Then wake, wake the song! our glad jubilee Once more we hail with sweet melody, Bringing our hymns of praise unto thee, O most holy Lord!

3 Yet once again the anthem repeat, Join ev'ry voice the Master to greet; Love's sacrifice we lay at his feet, In his temple now.

Jesus accept the offering we bring, Blending with song the odors of spring; Still of thy wondrous love we will sing, Till in heaven we bow.

Then wake, wake the song! our glad jubilee Once more we hail with sweet melody, Bringing our hymns of praise unto thee, O most holy Lord!

W.F. Sherwin.

546 Laudo. 7s.

_Thanksgiving._ (1223)

Praise to G.o.d! immortal praise, For the love that crowns our days; Bounteous Source of ev'ry joy, Let thy praise our tongues employ.

2 For the flocks that roam the plain, Yellow sheaves of ripened grain, Clouds that drop their fatt'ning dews, Suns that temp'rate warmth diffuse;

3 All that spring with bounteous hand, Scatters o'er the smiling land, All that lib'ral autumn pours From her rich o'erflowing stores;

4 Lord, for these our souls shall raise Grateful vows and solemn praise; And when ev'ry blessing's flown, Love thee for thyself alone.

Mrs. Anna L. Barbauld, 1772.

547 Seasons. L.M.

_At Sea._ (1197)

Rocked in the cradle of the deep, I lay me down in peace to sleep; Secure I rest upon the wave, For thou, O Lord, hast power to save.

2 I know thou wilt not slight my call, For thou dost mark the sparrows fall; And calm and peaceful is my sleep, Rocked in the cradle of the deep.

3 And such the trust that still were mine, Though stormy winds swept o'er the brine; Or though the tempest's fiery breath Roused me from sleep to wreck and death.

4 In ocean cave still safe with thee, The germ of immortality; And calm and peaceful is my sleep, Rocked in the cradle of the deep.

Mrs. Willard.