Hark, the Church pro­claims her hon­or,
And her strength is on­ly this:
God hath laid His choice up­on her,
And the work she doth is His.

He His Church hath firm­ly found­ed,
He will guard what He be­gan;
We, by sin and foes sur­round­ed,
Build her bul­warks as we can.

Frail and fleet­ing are our pow­ers,
Short our days, our fore­sight dim,
And we own the choice not ours,
We are chos­en first by Him.

Onward, then! For naught des­pair­ing,
Calm we fol­low at His word,
Thus through joy and sor­row bear­ing
Faithful wit­ness to our Lord.

Tho’ we here must strive in weak­ness,
Though in tears we oft­en bend,
What His might be­gan in meek­ness
Shall achieve a glo­ri­ous end.