Our Thought of Thee Is Glad with Hope

Our thought of thee is glad with hope

Dear coun­try of our love and pray­er;

Thy way is down no fa­tal slope

But up to freer sun and air.

Tried as by fur­nace fires

and yet

By God’s grace on­ly strong­er made;

In fu­ture tasks be­fore thee set

Thou shalt not lack the old-time aid.

Great

with­out seek­ing to be great

By fraud or con­quest; rich in gold

But rich­er in the large es­tate

Of vir­tue which thy child­ren hold.

With peace that comes of pur­ity

And strength to sim­ple jus­tice due

So runs our loy­al dream of thee.

God of our fa­thers! make it true.

O land of lands! to thee we give

Our love

our trust

our serv­ice free;

For thee thy sons shall no­bly live

And at thy need shall die for thee.