Behold! the Chris­tian war­ri­or stand
In all the ar­mor of his God;
The Spir­it’s sword is in his hand;
His feet are with the Gos­pel shod;

In pa­no­ply of truth com­plete,
Salvation’s hel­met on his head;
With right­eous­ness a breast­plate meet,
And faith’s broad shield be­fore him spread.

He wres­tles not with flesh and blood,
But prin­ci­pa­li­ties and pow­ers,
Rulers of dark­ness, like a flood,
Nigh, and as­sail­ing at all hours.

Nor Sa­tan’s fie­ry darts alone,
Quenched on his shield, at him are hurled;
The trai­tor in his heart is known,
And the dire friend­ship of this world.

Undaunted to the field he goes;
Yet vain ere skill and val­or there,
Unless, to foil his le­gion foes,
He takes the trus­ti­est wea­pon: pray­er.

With this om­ni­po­tence he moves,
From this the ali­en ar­mies flee,
Till more than con­quer­or he proves,
Through Christ, who gives him vic­to­ry.

Thus, strong in his Re­deem­er’s strength,
Sin, death, and hell he tram­ples down;
Fights the good fight, and wins at length,
Through mer­cy, an im­mor­tal crown.