Paul and Silas

P.P. Bliss             D.B. Towner

Night had fallen on the city, And the streets at last were still,
Where the noisy throng the day-long, Did the air with shoutings fill.
And the weary way-worn trav'lers Preaching Jesus thro' the land,
Were in deepest dungeon darkness, At the magistrates' command.

Many stripes to them were given Many curses on them cast;
Many bolts and bars surround them, In the stocks their feet were fast.
While the trusty Roman jailor, All securely slumb'ring on,
Little dream'd the mighty wonder Of the morrow's early dawn.

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, the earth, the earth is quaking, Loos'd are ev'ry prisoner's bands.

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 heav'nly peace,
Pray, oh, pray, thou burden'd prisoner, God will give thee sweet release.

Copyright, 1887, by D.B. Towner