My country ’tis of Thee,
Who telleth the number of the stars.
And with Thy stripes we are healed.
Absolved from all allegiance to sin,
we, the pilgrims, seek a more perfect city.
where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty,
secured for ourselves and our posterity.
O death, where is thy sting?
Land for which my fathers died,
of thee I sing,
my hand over my heart.