Thanksgiving Hymn

John Pierpont

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God of the spreading earth,
From many a happy hearth,
This day shall rise
Thanks from glad hearts to thee,
For heaven-born liberty,
That wakes from hosts made free,--
Reaching the skies.


Thanksgiving will we bring,
That wives this hour may sing,
In holy strains,
Triumphant songs, for sires
Plucked from their funeral pyres,
Erst bound in angry fires,
And damning chains.


From crowding children break
Anthems that raptures wake,
For parents found;
With dawning light they bend
Where holy thoughts ascend,
And prayer and praises blend
In joy profound.


God of the Right! still speed
Our holy cause, till freed
Is every soul;
Let echoing p├Žans swell,
Telling that Truth can quell
The raging fires of hell,
From pole to pole.

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