He holds in re­mem­brance
Each one of His fold;
Their hairs are all num­bered,
Their names are all told;
Their pray­ers are all an­swered,
Their cries are all heard:
How blest is the na­tion
Whose God is the Lord!

Their bread, it is giv­en,
The fin­est of wheat!
The wa­ters they rest by
Are qui­et and sweet;
He giv­eth them slum­ber,
As saith His Word:
How blest is the na­tion
Whose God is the Lord!

’Tis true they are stran­gers
And pil­grims on earth,
But theirs is a joy of
Unspeakable worth.
All robed in fine lin­en,
With ar­mor and sword—
How blest is the na­tion
Whose God is the Lord!

They tra­vel the high­way
Where no­thing un­clean
Has e’er left a foot­print,
Has ever been seen;
There’s no sound of sigh­ing
Where glad­ness has soared:
How blest is the na­tion
Whose God is the Lord!