This prophetic poem is a heartfelt lament and urgent plea for the soul of America. It begins by echoing the beloved line “God shed His grace on thee,” then paints a stark picture of a nation that has received unmatched blessing yet drifted far from its first love, trading truth for pride, liberty for license, and the light of Christ for the darkness of self.

Like the prodigal son, America is portrayed as a wayward child who has squandered its inheritance, yet the Father still calls, still waits, still stands ready with open arms. The poem moves from sorrow over the nation’s spiritual decline to a ringing call for repentance: to fall on its knees at the cross, drink again from Calvary’s fountain, and find forgiveness and eternal life in Jesus Christ alone.

The final stanzas burst with hope and holy urgency. Church bells, steeples, and awakened hearts herald the promise that if America turns back to Christ, revival’s fire is here, ready to fall, ready to burn away the darkness and restore the land to the glory and purpose for which it was graced.

In essence, it is both a mourning for what has been lost and a triumphant declaration that it is not too late: the Shepherd seeks His sheep, the King is near, and revival awaits the nation that humbles itself and comes home.

America, America,
God shed His grace on thee,
From shining sea to shining sea,
Yet shadows veil what once was free.

The crown of brotherhood lies bent,
Our purple mountains turn to dust,
The fruited plain forgets its scent,
And liberty lies stained with rust.

We chased the wind, we crowned the pride,
We called the darkness light by day,
We traded truth for what felt right,
And slowly turned our hearts away.

But hark—a voice still calls thy name,
The Shepherd seeks the wandering sheep,
His arms are wide, His love the same,
Though we have sown what now we reap.

America, America,
Fall on thy knees beneath the cross,
Where mercy flows for every loss,
Where grace redeems what sin has cost.

Repent, return, O weary land,
The altar waits, the Savior stands,
His blood still speaks a better word
Than all the cries of broken hands.

Let church bells ring from coast to coast,
Let steeples pierce the darkened sky,
Let prodigal hearts come home to boast
No more in self, but Christ on high.

America, America,
God shed His grace on thee—
And bids thee now, in humble faith,
Come drink the cup of Calvary.

There find forgiveness, full and free,
There find the life that never ends,
For every soul that turns to see
The Lamb of God who heals and mends.

America, awake, arise,
Lift up your eyes, the King is near.
The night is far spent, dawn is nigh—
Turn back to Christ; revival’s fire is here.