No longer of Him be it said,
He hath no place to lay His head;
In every land a constant lamp
Flames by His small and mighty camp.
There is no strange and distant place
That is not gladdened by His face;
And every nation kneels to hail
The Splendor shining through its veil.
Imprisoned for His love of me
He makes my spirit greatly free;
And through my lips that uttered sin
The King of Glory enters in.