All praise be to God, whom all things ob­ey,
From an­gels and men for ev­er and aye:
Who send­eth on earth the pow­ers of His throne,
His pro­vi­dence good and love to make known.

His an­gels are they of coun­te­nance fair,
The arm of His strength, His hand of kind care:
His mes­sage of peace to us they re­veal,
His wis­dom most high they seal or un­seal.

By mar­tyrs of old they stood in the flame,
And bade them not flinch, but call on God’s name.
Thro’ tor­ment, thro’ shame, thro’ dark­ness of death
They led with­out fear the sires of our faith.

They stand with the few, they fight for the free,
God’s reign to ad­vance o’er land and o’er sea:
And when the brave die or fall in the fight,
Their spir­its they bear to rest in God’s sight.

For pa­tience and toil a crown they pre­pare;
They found for the meek a king­dom full fair;
No fa­mine nor plague ’gainst them doth pre­vail;
Their bread can­not lack, their cruse can­not fail.

We pray Thee, who art Thy an­gels’ re­ward,
Thy flock to de­fend for­get not, O Lord;
But pros­per their aid, that us they may bring
To see the true face of Je­sus, our king.