Our fathers—where are they, the faithful and wise?
They are gone to their mansions prepared in the skies;
With the ransomed in glory forever they sing,
“All worthy the Lamb, our Redeemer and King!”
Our fathers—who were they? Men strong in the Lord,
Who were nurtured and fed with the milk of the Word;
Who breathed in the freedom their Savior had given,
And fearlessly waved their blue banner to heaven.
Our fathers—how lived they? In fasting and prayer
Still grateful for blessings, and willing to share
Their bread with the hungry—their basket and store—
Their home with the homeless that came to their door.
Our fathers—where knelt they? Upon the green sod,
And poured out their hearts to their covenant God;
And oft in the deep glen, beneath the wild sky,
The songs of their Zion were wafted on high.
Our fathers—how died they? They valiantly stood
The rage of the foeman, and sealed with their blood,
By “faithful contendings,” the faith of their sires,
Mid tortures in prisons, on scaffolds, in fires.
Our fathers—where sleep they? Go search the wide cairn,
Where the birds of the hill make their nests in the fern;
Where the dark purple heather and bonny blue-bell
Deck the mountain and moor, where our forefathers fell.