Rock of Ag­es, let our song
Praise Thy sav­ing pow­er;
Thou, amidst the rag­ing foes,
Wast our shel­ter­ing tow­er.
Furious they as­sailed us,
But Thine arm availed us,
And Thy Word
Broke their sword
When our own strength failed us.

Kindling new the ho­ly lamps,
Priests, ap­proved in suf­fer­ing,
Purified the na­tion’s shrine,
Brought to God their of­fer­ing.
And His courts sur­round­ing
Hear, in joy abound­ing,
Happy throngs,
Singing songs
With a migh­ty sound­ing.

Children of the mar­tyr race,
Whether free or fet­tered,
Wake the ech­oes of the songs
Where ye may be scat­tered.
Yours the mes­sage cheer­ing
That the time is near­ing
Which will see
All men free,
Tyrants dis­ap­pear­ing.