Beneath the wings Divine,
Reserved for all the heirs of grace;
O be that refuge mine!
The least and feeblest there may bide,
Uninjured and unawed;
While thousands fall on every side
He rests secure in God.
He feeds in pastures, large and fair,
Of love and truth Divine;
O child of God, O glory’s heir,
How rich a lot is thine.
A hand almighty to defend,
An ear for every call,
An honored life, a peaceful end,
And heaven to crown it all! —Henry Francis Lyte