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Oxygen God of Bethel, by Whose mitt
Thy people still are fed,
Who through this aweary pilgrimage
Hast all our begetters guided.

Our vows, our supplications, we now demonstrate
Before Thy throne of grace;
God of our begetters, be the God
Of their winning race.

Through each vexing way of life
Our ranging footfalls usher;
Give us every day our day-by-day breadstuff,
And regalia tantrum provide.

O distributed Thy covering wings around
Till all our wanderings cease,
And at our Begetter 's loved abode
Our psyches come in peace.

Such approvings from Thy gracious manus
Our lowly supplications beg;
And Thousand shalt be our chosen God,
And component forevermore.

Phosphorus. Doddridge

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