Have we gone friendless down the thorny way,
Always the clouds of pregnant black were riven
By flashes from His own eternal day.
The women of a race should be its pride;
We glory in the strength our mothers had,
We glory that this strength was not denied
To labor bravely, nobly, and be glad.
God give to these within this temple here,
Clear vision of the dignity of toil,
That virtue in them may its blossoms rear