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.