Blest are the hum­ble souls that see
Their emp­ti­ness and po­ver­ty;
Treasures of grace to them are giv’n,
And crowns of joy laid up in Heav’n.

Blest are the men of brok­en heart,
Who mourn for sin with in­ward smart;
The blood of Christ di­vine­ly flows,
A heal­ing balm for all their woes.

Blest are the meek, who stand afar
From rage and pass­ion, noise and war;
God will se­cure their hap­py state,
And plead their cause against the great.

Blest are the souls that thirst for grace
Hunger and long for right­eous­ness;
They shall be well sup­plied, and fed
With liv­ing streams and liv­ing bread.

Blest are the men whose bow­els move
And melt with sym­pa­thy and love;
From Christ the Lord they shall ob­tain
Like sym­pa­thy and love again.

Blest are the pure, whose hearts are clean
From the de­fil­ing pow­ers of sin;
With end­less plea­sure they shall see
A God of spot­less pu­ri­ty.

Blest are the men of peace­ful life,
Who quench the coals of grow­ing strife;
They shall be called the heirs of bliss,
The sons of God, the God of peace.

Blest are the suf­fer­ers who par­take
Of pain and shame for Je­sus’ sake;
Their souls shall tri­umph in the Lord;
Glory and joy are their re­ward.