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.