Stanzas.

    God bless the man who gave us rest
        And him who taught us play,
    For kindness reigned within his breast
        To all our sorrow slay;
    The weary heart, the fainting limb,
        The soul that droops in woe,
    Should most unceasing praise on him
        In gratitude bestow.

    He is the hero of the race,
        The toiling nation's friend,
    For pity smiles upon his face
        With joys that never end;
    He tears away the iron gyves
        That chain our best repose,
    And makes the deserts of our lives
        To blossom as the rose.

    He pours his balms into the wound
        Of bosom weak and sad,
    Till holy pleasures flit around
        And all the heart is glad;
    Till all is sweet that here before
        Was wrapped in bitter woe,
    And only gladness hurries o'er
        The millions here below.

    Great man he is, and him I give
        That gratitude of mine,
    Which must in brilliance while I live
        With brightest glory shine,
    To wreathe a radiance always gay
        Around the worthy breast
    Of him who first discovered play
        And gave the nations rest.