Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is
trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath
loosed the fatal lightning of his terrible swift sword:
His Truth is marching
on.
I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;
They
have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His
righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps.
His Day is marching on.
He has sounded
forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts
of men before his judgment-seat:
Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be
jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.
In the beauty of the lilies
Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures
you and me:
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men
free,
While God is marching on.
