Let Zion and her sons rejoice,
Behold the promised hour;
Her God hath heard her mourning voice,
And comes t’exalt his pow’r.
He sits a sov’reign on his throne,
With pity in his eyes;
He hears the dying pris’ners groan,
And sees their sighs arise.
He frees the souls condemn’d to death,
Nor, when his saints complain,
Shall it be said that praying breath
Was ever spent in vain.