1 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.

2 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.

3 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.