O bro­thers, lift your voic­es,
Triumphant songs to raise;
Till Heav’n on high re­joic­es,
And earth is filled with praise;
Ten thou­sand hearts are bound­ing,
With ho­ly hopes and free;
The Gos­pel trump is sound­ing,
The trump of ju­bi­lee.

O Chris­tian bro­thers, glo­ri­ous
Shall be the con­flict’s close;
The cross hath been vic­to­ri­ous,
And shall be o’er its foes;
Faith is our bat­tle to­ken;
Our lead­er all con­trols;
Our tro­phies, fet­ters brok­en;
Our cap­tives, ran­somed souls.

Not un­to us, Lord Je­sus:
To Thee all praise be due,
Whose blood-bought mer­cy frees us,
Has freed our breth­ren, too.
Not un­to us: in glo­ry
The an­gels catch the strain,
And cast their crowns be­fore Thee
Exultingly again.

Captain of our sal­va­tion,
Thy pre­sence we adore!
Praise, glo­ry, ado­ra­tion
Be Thine for­ev­er­more;
Still on in con­flict press­ing
On Thee Thy peo­ple call,
Thee King of kings con­fess­ing,
Thee crown­ing Lord of all.