The Gipsy's Prayer.

Our altar is the dewy sod —

Our temple yon blue throne of God:

No priestly rite our souls to bind —

We bow before the Almighty Mind.

Oh, Thou whose realm is wide as air —

Thou wilt not spurn the Gipsies’ prayer:

Though banned and barred by all beside,

Be Thou the Outcast's guard and guide.

Poor fragments of a Nation wrecked —

Its story whelmed in Time's neglect —

We drift unheeded on the wave,

If God refuse the lost to save.

Yet though we name no Fatherland —

And though we clasp no kindred hand —

Though houseless, homeless wanderers we —

Oh give us Hope, and Heaven with Thee!