When, doomed to death, the Apostle lay,
At night, in Herod's dungeon-cell,
A light shone round him like the day,
And from his limbs the fetters fell.

A messenger from God was there,
To loose his chain and bid him rise,
And lo, the Saint, as free as air,
Walked forth beneath the open skies.

Chains yet more strong and cruel bind
The victims of that deadly thirst
Which drowns the soul, and from the mind
Blots the bright image stamped at first.

Oh, God of Love and Mercy, deign
To look on those, with pitying eye,
Who struggle with that fatal chain,
And send them succor from on high.

Send down, in its resistless might,
Thy gracious Spirit, we implore,
And lead the captive forth to light,
A rescued soul, a slave no more.