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.