Night has fallen on the city, And the streets at last are still, Where the noisy crowd, the day long, Did the air with shoutings fill ; And the weary, way-worn travellers, Preaching Jesus through the land, Are in deepest dungeon darkness, By the magistrates' command.
2. Many stripes to them are given, Many curses on them cast ; Many bolts and bars surround them ; In the stocks their feet are fast ; While the cruel Roman jailer, All securely sleeping on, Little dreams the mighty wonders Of the morrow's early dawn.
3. Hark the sighing of the prisoners ! Hear their moanings loud and long ! No : again, and louder, clearer, 'Tis the voice of prayer and song ! See, the prison walls are shaking, And the door wide open stands ! Lo, behold the earth is quaking, Loosed are every prisoner's bands !
4. Oh, there's not a cell so lonely But a song may echo there ; Oh, there's not a night so cheerless, But there's potency in prayer; Sing, oh, sing, thou weary pilgrim ! Song will bring thee heavenly peace; Pray, oh, pray, thou burdened prisoner ! God will give thee sweet release.