1 How dear is the thought, that the angels of God
May bow their bright wings to the world they once trod; Will leave the sweet songs of the mansions above,
To breathe o'er our bosoms some message of love!
2 They come, on the wings of the morning they come, Impatient to lead some poor wanderer home;
Some sinner to save from his darkened abode,
And lay him to rest in the arms of his God.
3 They come when we wander, they come when we pray, In mercy to guard us wherever we stray;
A glorious cloud, their bright witness is given;
Encircling us here are these angels of heaven.