Hymn for the Twenty-Second of December

When o’er the bil­low-heav­ing deep

The fa­thers of our race

The pre­cepts of their God to keep

Sought here their rest­ing-place—

That gra­cious God their path pre­pared

Preserved from ev­ery harm

And still for their pro­tect­ion bared

His ev­er­last­ing arm.

His breath

in­spir­ing ev­ery gale

Impels them o’er the main;

His guard­ian an­gels spread the sail

And tem­pests howl in vain.

For them old ocean’s rocks are smoothed;

December’s face grows mild;

To ver­nal airs her blasts are soothed

And all their rage be­guiled.

When Fa­mine rolls her hag­gard eyes

His ever-boun­te­ous hand

Abundance from the sea sup­plies

And trea­sures from the sand.

Nor yet His ten­der mer­cies cease;

His ov­er­rul­ing plan

Inclines to gen­tle­ness and peace

The heart of sa­vage man.

And can our sto­ny bo­soms be

To all these won­ders blind?

Nor swell with thank­ful­ness to Thee

O Parent of man­kind?

All-gra­cious God

in­flame our zeal;

Dispense one bless­ing more;

Grant us Thy bound­less love to feel

Thy good­ness to ad­ore.