“If millions call thee their mother, and borrow
Of thee some comfort in grief and care,
E’en though thou too hast known pain and sorrow,
Yet never, never must thou despair.
Thou must stand firm and thy heart must fail not,
While breakers roar through the tempest wild,
Calm words of faith on thy lips, that pale not,
And on thy forehead hope’s radiance mild.
Thou must behold, with a gaze undaunted,
The dark abyss, that no mists conceal,
Thy head upraised, thy foot firmly planted,
Thy hand aye open to help and heal.
All thoughts of self must be banished ever,
Thy people’s life must thine own life be.
The voice of passion--oh! heed it never,
Thou may’st lead millions to rise with thee.
If anguish conquer, or sin enslave them,
If poor and lowly or nobly born--
All are thy children, forgive and save them,
The sick, the sinful, the weak and worn.
Let then thy bounty, unchecked, unending,
Flow forth, a blessing o’er all the land,
Like dews from Heaven on earth descending,
Refresh thy people with heart and hand.”
[Illustration]