They that mourn in dungeon gloom,
Bound in iron and despair,
Sentenced to a heavier doom
Than the pangs they suffer there—
Foes and rebels once to God,
They disdained His high control;
Now they feel His fiery rod
Striking terrors through their soul,
Wrung with agony they fall
To the dust, and gazing round,
Call for help—in vain they call,
Help, nor hope, nor friend are found.
Then unto the Lord they cry.
He inclines a gracious ear,
Sends deliverance from on high,
Rescues them from all their fear.
He restores their forfeit breath,
Breaks in twain the gates of brass;
From the bands and grasp of death,
Forth to liberty they pass.
O that men would praise the Lord,
For His goodness to their race;
For the wonders of His word,
And the riches of His grace!