No Longer of Him Be It Said

No long­er of Him be it said

He hath no place to lay His head;

In ev­ery land a con­stant lamp

Flames by His small and migh­ty camp.

There is no strange and dist­ant place

That is not glad­dened by His face;

And eve­ry na­tion kneels to hail

The Splen­dor shin­ing through its veil.

Imprisoned for His love of me

He makes my spir­it great­ly free;

And through my lips that ut­tered sin

The King of Glo­ry en­ters in.