If we could know in times of grief,
How near God’s angels come,
Our hearts would greet, with sweet relief,
These messengers from home,
These messengers from home.
O’er all our ways His charge they keep,
Nor minister in vain;
And if we wake, or if we sleep,
Swift flies the heav’nly train,
Swift flies the heav’nly train.
With silent tread they camp around
To guard his children dear,
Nor e’en a stone upon the ground
To harm them shall appear,
To harm them shall appear.