Oh! let us rejoice, that this lamp does not shed its light on a chosen few, but that its rays have penetrated many a land of darkened ignorance and fiendish cruelty, scattering joy and happiness in habitations where sorrow and misery once had their abode.
Let us thank God, that leaves from this Tree of Life have been wafted by propitious breezes throughout the length and breadth of the world. They are to be found in the hut of the Esquimaux, the hovel of the African, the wigwam of the Indian, in the cottage of the laborer, in the palace of the lord, floating on the surface of the Ganges, fringing the borders of the Nile.
’Tis a fountain ever bursting,
Whence the weary may obtain
Water for the soul that’s thirsting,
And shall never thirst again.
’Tis a lamp forever burning,
By whose never-dying light,
Sinners, from their errors turning,
Are directed through the night.