Hymns And Odes Ix Poem by John Pierpont

To Thee, beneath whose eye
Each circling century
Obedient rolls,
Our nation, in its prime,
Looked with a faith sublime,
And trusted, in 'the time
That tried men's souls,'-


When, from this gate of heaven,
People and priest were driven
By fire and sword,
And, where thy saints had prayed,
The harnessed war-horse neighed,
And horsemen's trumpets brayed
In harsh accord.


Nor was our fathers' trust,
Thou Mighty One and Just,
Then put to shame;
'Up to the hills,' for light,
Looked they in peril's night,
And, from yon guardian height,
Deliverance came.


There, like an angel form,
Sent down to still a storm,
Stood Washington!
Clouds broke and rolled away;
Foes fled in pale dismay;
Wreathed were his brows with bay,
When war was done.


God of our sires and sons,
Let other Washingtons
Our country bless,
And, like the brave and wise
Of by-gone centuries,
Show that true greatness lies
In righteousness.