Behold the ar­my of the Lord,
How bright its host ap­pears;
Its ranks are mar­shalled, ev­ery one,
And filled with vol­un­teers.

Refrain

There is no place for cow­ard hearts,
Who from their col­ors fly;
The Gos­pel calls for loy­al ones
Who do not fear to die.

The trump of war is sound­ing now,
Its sig­nal well we know;
It bids the sol­diers of the cross
Take arms against the foe.

Refrain

The bat­tle storm may do its worst,
Our ar­dor still shall rise;
We’ll nev­er lay our ar­mor down,
Till faith pre­sents the prize.

Refrain

And when by grace our vic­t’ry won,
Like stars in Heav’n we shine;
We’ll shout and sing thro’ end­less years,
The praise, O Lord, be Thine.

Refrain