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.