1 The land our fathers left to us
Is foul with hateful sin;
When shall, O Lord, this sorrow end,
And hope and joy begin?

2 What good, though growing might and wealth
Shall stretch from shore to shore,
If thus the fatal poison-taint
Be only spread the more?

3 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!

4 No outward show nor fancied strength
From Thy stern justice saves;
There is no liberty for them
Who make their brethren slaves!