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tr., John Brownlie




Lord of a countless throng,

Fair as the stars of night,

Won from the thrall of cruel wrong

Back to the good and right;

Thine is the praise they sing,

Lord of their souls, and King.


Thine was the love that sought

Far as their wanderings led;

Thine was the wondrous grace that brought

Life to the faint and dead;

Pardon for all the past,

Peace that shall endless last.


Lord of a countless throng

Sworn to be faithful aye,

When, in the power that makes them strong,

They stand in evil day;

Make us by grace, we pray,

Loyal and brave as they.

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