When Is­ra­el, of the Lord be­loved,
Out from the land of bond­age came,
Her fa­ther’s God be­fore her moved,
An aw­ful guide, in smoke and flame.

There rose the cho­ral hymn of praise,
And trump and tim­brel an­swered keen,
And Zion’s daugh­ters poured their lays,
With priest’s and war­ri­or’s voice be­tween.

By day, along th’as­ton­ished lands
The clou­dy pil­lar glid­ed slow;
By night, Ara­bia’s crim­soned sands
Returned the fiery column’s glow.

Thus pre­sent still, though now un­seen,
When bright­ly shines the pros­per­ous day,
Be thoughts of Thee a clou­dy screen,
To tem­per the de­ceit­ful ray.

And O, when ga­thers on our path,
In shade and storm, the fre­quent night,
Be Thou, long suf­fer­ing, slow to wrath,
A burn­ing and a shin­ing light.