They that mourn in dun­geon gloom,
Bound in ir­on and des­pair,
Sentenced to a hea­vi­er doom
Than the pangs they suf­fer there—

Foes and re­bels once to God,
They dis­dained His high con­trol;
Now they feel His fie­ry rod
Striking ter­rors through their soul,

Wrung with ago­ny they fall
To the dust, and gaz­ing round,
Call for help—in vain they call,
Help, nor hope, nor friend are found.

Then un­to the Lord they cry.
He in­clines a gra­cious ear,
Sends de­liv­er­ance from on high,
Rescues them from all their fear.

He res­tores their for­feit breath,
Breaks in twain the gates of brass;
From the bands and grasp of death,
Forth to li­ber­ty they pass.

O that men would praise the Lord,
For His good­ness to their race;
For the won­ders of His word,
And the rich­es of His grace!