The Blessèd Nation

He holds in re­mem­brance

Each one of His fold;

Their hairs are all num­bered

Their names are all told;

Their pray­ers are all an­swered

Their cries are all heard:

How blest is the na­tion

Whose God is the Lord!

Their bread

it is giv­en

The fin­est of wheat!

The wa­ters they rest by

Are qui­et and sweet;

He giv­eth them slum­ber

As saith His Word:

How blest is the na­tion

Whose God is the Lord!

’Tis true they are strang­ers

And pil­grims on earth

But theirs is a joy of

Unspeakable worth.

All robed in fine lin­en

With ar­mor and sword—

How blest is the na­tion

Whose God is the Lord!

They tra­vel the high­way

Where no­thing un­clean

Has e’er left a foot­print

Has ever been seen;

There’s no sound of sigh­ing

Where glad­ness has soared:

How blest is the na­tion

Whose God is the Lord!