By the warm tears of nations saved.
In one deep prayer their spirits blent,
The guilty and the innocent;
Youth, pure as if from heaven its birth,
Age, soil’d with every stain of earth,
Knelt, offering up one heart, one cry,
One sacrifice of agony.
—Oh! blest, though bitter be their source—
Though dark the fountain of remorse,
Blest are the tears which pour from thence,