Behold, migh­ty an­gels are fly­ing,
All chos­en and faith­ful and called;
To res­cue the dead and the dy­ing,
In Ba­by­lon cag­es en­thralled.
The ran­somed are home­ward re­turn­ing,
With joy ev­er­last­ing and songs,
Long ag­es in Egypt so­journ­ing,
Held bound in the fet­ters and thongs.

The ev­en­ing is light as the morn­ing,
The clouds are all van­ished away;
The bride in white rai­ment adorn­ing,
God’s rem­nant in bat­tle ar­ray.
The saints are now joy­ful in glo­ry,
Rehearsing, again and again,
The won­der­ful, won­der­ful sto­ry,
The love of the Lamb that was slain.

The ar­mies of Heav’n are ad­vanc­ing,
They follow the faith­ful and true,
On fiery white hors­es they’re pranc­ing,
The ar­mies of hell to sub­due.
The beast and his im­age are fight­ing,
Defending their creeds and their cliques,
Sectarian foes are unit­ing,
Six hun­dred and six­ty and six.

While Je­sus, the bat­tle is wag­ing
’Gainst Ba­bel con­fu­sion and sin,
And Sa­tan is foam­ing and rag­ing,
Our Sav­ior is reign­ing with­in.
The wolf and the lamb and the li­on,
Made one in the dear Sav­ior’s love,
Are feed­ing to­ge­ther in Zi­on,
As pure as in Hea­ven above.

And when this great bat­tle is end­ed,
When Je­sus shall come for His own,
By my­ri­ads of an­gels at­tend­ed,
We’ll meet ’round our Fa­ther’s white throne,
And part ne­ver­more, ne­ver, ne­ver;
With loved ones and saved ones we’ll sing,
And praise Him for­ev­er and ev­er,
Our Sav­ior, our God, and our king.