And safe beneath our sheltering vines
Our youth is blest, and soothed our age.
2What thanks, O God, to thee are due,
That thou didst plant our fathers here;
And watch and guard them as they grew,
A vineyard, to the planter dear.
3The toils they bore, our ease have wrought;
They sowed in tears--in joy we reap;
The birthright they so dearly bought
We'll guard, till we with them shall sleep.