840. L. M. Flint. |We have a goodly heritage.|
1 In pleasant lands have fallen the lines
That bound our goodly heritage,
And safe beneath our sheltering vines
Our youth is blest, and soothed our age.
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,
Their grateful sons, O God, shall own
While here their name and race shall last.