Happy are they, they that love God,
Whose hearts have Christ con­fessed,
Who by His cross have found their life,
And ’neath His yoke their rest.

Glad is the praise, sweet are the songs,
When they to­ge­ther sing;
And strong the pray­ers that bow the ear
Of Hea­ven’s eter­nal King.

Christ to their homes giv­eth His peace,
And makes their loves His own;
But ah, what tares the evil one
Hath in his gar­den sown.

Sad were our lot, ev­il this earth,
Did not its sor­rows prove
The path where­by the sheep may find
The fold of Je­su’s love.

Then shall they know, they that love Him,
How all their pain is good;
And death it­self can­not un­bind
Their hap­py bro­ther­hood.