1 At midnight’s holy hour the saints
Sang praises to the Lord above,
Who always hears the meek complaints
Of humble souls that trust His love.
2 No prison wall can chain the soul,
By holy truth set free from sin;
On wings of faith it seeks its goal:
At Heaven’s court it enters in.
3 And well they knew that God would hear,
For He is Father over all;
He rules and reigns in highest sphere,
And notes on earth the sparrow’s fall.
4 An earthquake shock the prison door
Throws wide to freedom’s fragrant air;
The loosened stocks declare no more
A worshiper should fetters wear.
5 Oh, let us, then, whate’er our lot,
Remember on our pilgrim way,
On downy couch, or prison cot,
In good or ill, to praise and pray.
Source: The Cyber Hymnal #8532