To Our Once Favored Native Land

To our once fa­vored na­tive land

[orig­in­al­ly

On Bri­tain

long a fa­vour’d isle]

Now ov­er­whelmed with guilt and shame

O migh­ty God

stretch out Thy hand

The same Thy pow­er

Thy grace the same.

Let peace des­cend with bal­my wing

And all its bless­ings round her shed;

Her li­ber­ties be well se­cured

And com­merce lift its faint­ing head.

Let fear­some can­nons cease to roar

The war­like trump no long­er sound;

The din of arms be heard no more

Nor hu­man blood pol­lute the ground.

Let hos­tile troops drop from their hands

The use­less sword

the glitt­er­ing spear;

And join in friend­ship’s sac­red bands

Nor one dis­cord­ant voice be there.

Thus save

O Lord

our sink­ing land;

A mil­lion tongues shall then adore

Resound the hon­ors of Thy name

And spread Thy praise from shore to shore.