The plant of grace shall ever thrive,
Though nature's brood decay;
The righteous in the Lord shall live,
And still hold on his way.

His hands from mischief clean withal
His heart from malice free:
Stronger and stronger still he shall
For work or warfare be.

He marches dauntless on his way,
Let blackest tempests blow;
No dangers do his heart dismay,
But make his vigour grow.