Our ban­ner is th’eter­nal God,
Nor will we yield to fear;
Amidst ten thou­sand fierce as­saults,
His migh­ty aid is near.

To Him the hands of faith we stretch,
And plead ex­per­ienced grace;
To Him the voice of pray­er we raise,
Nor will He hide His face.

No more, proud Ama­lek, thy boast,
God’s arm is fee­ble grown;
His sword shall lop off ev­ery hand
That dares in­sult His throne.

Awake, tre­men­dous Judge, awake,
Our na­tion’s cause to plead;
Nor let Thine Is­ra­el’s foes, and Thine,
By wick­ed­ness suc­ceed.

Our faint­ing hands, how soon they droop!
But Thou the weak canst raise;
And in the mount of pray­er canst leave
An al­tar to Thy praise.