At Midnight’s Holy Hour

At mid­night’s ho­ly hour the saints

Sang prais­es to the Lord above

Who al­ways hears the meek com­plaints

Of hum­ble souls that trust His love.

No pri­son wall can chain the soul

By ho­ly truth set free from sin;

On wings of faith it seeks its goal:

At Heav­en’s court it en­ters in.

And well they knew that God would hear

For He is Fa­ther ov­er all;

He rules and reigns in high­est sphere

And notes on earth the spar­row’s fall.

An earth­quake shock the pri­son door

Throws wide to free­dom’s frag­rant air;

The loos­ened stocks de­clare no more

A wor­ship­er should fet­ters wear.

Oh

let us

then

what­e’er our lot

Remember on our pi­lgrim way

On dow­ny couch

or pri­son cot

In good or ill

to praise and pray.