2 What 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!
3 The 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.
4 Thy kindness to our fathers shown,
In weal and woe, through all the past,