Hymn of Thanks

Poor, outcast, and forsaken, 
     Our mind and spirit dead, 
How long the law has shaken 
     Its terrors over our head!
How long the hate and jeering 
     Of men by fortune blest
Have shrunk our natures, scaring 
     The heart within our breast.

Oh! we had other hunger
     Than lack of daily bread—
The blind heart's yearning, stronger 
     Than famine's tooth of dread!
A poverty more pinching
     Than tattered garments show—
The poor soul's beggary, cringing
     In rags of sin and woe!

But now, with gratulation,
     We thank thee, guardian God,
That tenderest compassion 
     Has reared this fair abode,
Where worthy toil and learning, 
     And human love and care, 
May feed our spirits, yearning 
     To lives more good and fair.

The future now has promise, 
     So dark to us before:
The present shall fly from us,
     An utter waste no more.
God's ministers have found us, 
     And plucked us from the grave
His angels are around us,
     To lead, to cheer, and save!