Yes, Ethiopia yet shall stretch
Her bleeding hands
abroad;
Her cry of agony shall reach
The burning
throne of God.
The tyrant's yoke from off her
neck,
His fetters from her soul,
The mighty hand of
God shall break
And spurn the base
control.
Redeemed from dust, and freed from
chains,
Her sons shall lift their eyes;
From lofty
hills and verdant plains
Shall shouts of triumph
rise.
Upon the dark, despairing brow
Shall play
a smile of peace;
For God shall bend unto her
woe,
And bid her sorrows cease.
'Neath
sheltering vines and stately palms
Shall laughing
children play;
And aged sires, with joyous
psalms,
Shall gladden every day.
Secure by night
and blest by day,
Shall pass her happy hours;
Within her peaceful bowers.
Thy bleeding hands
abroad;
Thy cry of agony shall reach
And find the
throne of God.
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