Lord God, we all to Thee give praise,
Thanksgivings meet to Thee we raise,
That an­gel hosts Thou didst cre­ate
Around Thy glo­ri­ous throne to wait.

They shine with light and heav’n­ly grace
And con­stant­ly be­hold Thy face;
They heed Thy voice, they know it well,
In god­ly wis­dom they ex­cel.

They ne­ver rest nor sleep as we;
Their whole de­light is but to be
With Thee, Lord Je­sus, and to keep
Thy lit­tle flock, Thy lambs and sheep.

The an­cient dra­gon is their foe;
His en­vy and his wrath they know.
It al­ways is his aim and pride
Thy Chris­tian people to di­vide.

As he of old de­ceived the world
And in­to sin and death was hurled,
So now he subt­ly lies in wait
To ru­in school and Church and state.

A roar­ing lion round he goes,
No halt nor rest he ev­er knows;
He seeks the Chris­tians to de­vour
And slay them by his dread­ful pow­er.

But watch­ful is the an­gel band
That fol­lows Christ on ev­ery hand
To guard His people where they go
And break the coun­sel of the Foe.

For this, now and in days to be,
Our praise shall rise, O Lord, to Thee,
Whom all the an­gel hosts adore
With grate­ful songs for­ev­er­more.