O God, beneath Thy guiding hand
Our exiled fathers crossed the sea;
And when they trod the wintry strand,
With prayer and psalm they worshipped Thee.

Thou heardest, well pleased, the song, the prayer:
Thy blessing came; and still its power
Shall onward, through all ages, bear
The memory of that holy hour.

Laws, freedom, truth and faith in God
Came with those exiles o’er the waves;
And, where their pilgrim feet have trod,
The God they trusted guards their graves.

And here Thy Name, O God of love,
Their children’s children still adore,
Till these eternal hills remove,
And spring adorns the earth no more.

To Thee, O God, whose guiding hand
Our fathers led across the sea,
And brought them to this barren shore,
Where they might freely worship Thee—

To Thee, O God, whose arm sustained
Their footsteps in this desert land,
Where sickness lurked, and death assailed
And foes beset on every hand—

To Thee, O God, we lift our eyes,
To Thee our grateful voices raise,
And, kneeling at Thy gracious throne,
Devoutly join in hymns of praise.

Our fathers’ God, incline Thine ear,
And listen to our heartfelt prayer;
Surround us with Thy heavenly grace,
And guard us with Thy constant care.

Our fathers’ God, in Thee we’ll trust,
Sheltered by Thee from every harm;
We’ll follow where Thy hand shall guide,
And lean on Thy sustaining arm.