The land our fathers left to us

Is foul with hateful sin;

When shall, O Lord, this sorrow end,

And hope and joy begin?

What good, though growing might and wealth

Shall stretch from shore to shore,

If thus the fatal poison-taint

Be only spread the more?

Wipe out, O God, the nation’s sin,

Then swell the nation’s power;

But build not high our yearning hopes,

To wither in an hour!

No outward show nor fancied strength

From Thy stern justice saves;

There is no liberty for them

Who make their brethren slaves!