The Hand that holds me keeps me well,
'Twixt earth and heaven I rest.
Within that Hand in joy I dwell,
Without am sore distrest.
Free from all cares this Hand doth hold
Poor folk that creep within.
Darkness and grief are turned to gold,
There's naught of soil or sin.
When dawn comes redly up like wine
It shines through Fingers five;
The Precious Blood was shed long-syne
To keep my soul alive.
Safe in that Hand nothing I dread,
No foe shall make me fear.
I who have roses for my bed
Soft as a bosom dear.
My city walls are builded strong,
My sentries go in white,
The years long and the seasons long
Pass in a dream of light.
