1Pillows, wet with tears of anguish,
Couches, pressed in sleepless woe,
Where the sons of Belial languish,
Father, may we never know!
2For, the maddening cup shall never
To our thirsting lips be pressed,
But, our draft shall be, forever,
The cold water thou hast blessed.
3This shall give us strength to labor,
This, make all our stores increase;