Perhaps, with those now passed away,
   We may be laid deep in the earth;
Perchance, ‘mid foreign scenes, we may
   Forget the land that gave us birth.

Perhaps upon the stormy seas,
   Where raging billows wildly roll,

But wheresoe’er our footsteps tend,
   ‘Mid tropic sands, or polar snow,
May we remember that great Friend
   Who guards us wheresoe’er we go.

Whose mighty hand hath been our stay
   Through scenes of trouble, doubt and fear,
And suffered us, poor worms of clay,
   To enter on another year.