As with Thy chosen moved of yore
The fire by night, the cloud by day!
2 When, from each temple of the free,
A nation’s song ascends to heaven,
Most holy Father, unto Thee
Now let our humble prayer be given.
3 Sweet peace be here; and hope and love
Be round us as a mantle thrown,
As unto Thee, supreme above,
The knee of prayer is bowed alone.