his death, Jan.
14, 1883.

God bless our native land!
Firm may she ever stand
Through storm and night!
When the wild tempests rave.
Ruler of wind and wave,
Do Thou our country save
By Thy great might!

For her our prayer shall rise
To God above the skies;
On Him we wait.
Thou who art ever nigh,
Guarding with watchful eye;
To Thee aloud we cry,
God save the State!

The tune of "Dort," by Lowell Mason, has long been the popular melody
for this hymn. Indeed the two were united by Mason himself. It is
braver music than "America," and would have carried Dr. Smith's hymn
nobly, but the borrowed tune, on the whole, better suits "My Country
'tis of thee,"--and besides, it has the advantage of a middle-register
harmony easy for a multitude of voices.

"THOU, TOO, SAIL ON, O SHIP OF STATE,"

The closing canto of Longfellow's "Launching of the Ship," almost
deserves a patriotic hymn-tune, though its place and use are commonly
with school recitations.

"GOD OF OUR FATHERS, KNOWN OF OLD."

Rudyard Kipling, in a moment of serious reflection on the flamboyant
militarism of British sentiment during the South African War, wrote this
remarkable "Recessional," so strikingly unlike his other war-time poems.
It is to be hoped he did not suddenly repent his Christian impulse, but
with the chauvinistic cry around him, "Our Country, right or wrong!" he
seems to have felt the contrast of his prayer--and flung it into the
waste-basket. His watchful wife rescued it (the story says) and bravely
sent it to the London Times. The world owes her a debt. The hymn is not
only an anthem for Peace Societies, but a tonic for true patriotism.
When Freedom fights in self-defense, she need not force herself to
"forget" the Lord of Hosts.

God of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle-line,
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine;
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget.

The tumult and the shouting dies,
The captains and the kings depart,
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget.

Far-called, our navies melt away,
On dune and headland sinks the fire;
Lo all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre.
Judge of the nation