Who called thee to such holy, high estate?
Who taught thy lips the all-redeeming Word,
Which touched us to emotion, as we heard,
And soars aloft to Him, That guides our fate?
Who kindled Ardor's undiminished flame;
To make thee bold and eager to attain,
Despite of all that gives thee deepest pain,
The highest good, not evanescent fame?
Who doth sustain the skyward lifted hand—
The hopeful sign and symbol of our zeal,
Upraised high our shattered nerves to steel,
As if in warning that we dauntless stand?
It is the God within the Nation's soul?
That spurs him on to dare to do the right;
He guides his steps and steadieth his sight
That he may strive unswerving towards the goal.
Like all true servants of the living God
Thou gavest heed to that Celestial Voice,
And didst assume our burdens, of thy choice—
Thy heart inspired, thy spirit overawed.
Remain our true exemplar in the Strife,
Though good reward or evil be thy share;
We follow thee, for Zion, everywhere
To struggle for the newly dawning life!