Upon these fields in years gone by
Stands wrought before our wondering eye!
Such is not due to human hand,
'T is God, who thus has blest your land!
So, like the scent of sacrifice,
Let ye to Him your thanks arise.
Praise the Lord!
Praise Him, ye Earth and Sky,
Praise Him, oh Sea!
Glory to God on high:
Texas is free.
Your merry blasts ye trumpets send
Throughout the land, from end to end,
To gladden by your tidings' peal,
Where throbs a heart for Texas' weal.
So also let their joyous sound
Waft over every hero's mound,
- These voices should be represented as coming from the four different points of the compass.