A National Hymn.

 by Park Benjamin.  

Great God! to whom our nation's woes,

Our dire distress, our angry foes,

In all their awful gloom are known,

We bow to thee, and thee alone. 

We pray thee, mitigate this strife,

Attended by such waste of life,

Such wounds and anguish, groans and tears,

That fill our inmost hearts with fears. 

O, darkly now the tempest rolls

Wide o'er our desolated souls;

Yet, beaten downward to the dust,

In thy forgiveness still we trust. 

We trust to thy protecting power

In this, our country's saddest hour,

And pray that thou wilt spread thy shield

Above us in the camp and field. 

O God of battles, let thy might

Protect our armies in the fight—

Till they shall win the victory,

And set the hapless bondmen free;—

Till, guided by thy glorious hand,

Those armies reunite the land,

 And North and South alike shall raise

To God their peaceful hymns of praise.

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