1 King of saints, to Whom the number
Of Thy starry host is known,
Many a name, by man forgotten,
Lives for ever round Thy throne:
Lights, which earth-born mists have darkened,
There are shining full and clear,
Princes in the court of heaven,
Nameless, unremembered here.

2 In the roll of Thine Apostles
One there stands, Bartholomew,
He for whom to-day we offer,
Year by year, our praises due:
How he toiled for Thee and suffered
None on earth can now record;
All his saintly life is hidden
In the knowledge of his Lord;

3 None can tell us: all is written
In the Lamb's great book of life,
All the faith, and prayer, and patience,
All the toiling, and the strife:
There are told Thy hidden treasures:
Number us, O Lord, with them,
When Thou makest up the jewels
Of Thy living diadem.