Soldiers who to Christ be­long,
Trust ye in His Word, be strong;
For His pro­mis­es are sure,
His re­wards for aye en­dure.

His no crowns that pass away,
His no palm that sees de­cay,
His the joy that shall not fade,
His the light that knows no shade.

His the home for spir­its blest,
Where He gives them peace­ful rest,
Far ab­ove the star­ry skies,
In the bliss of pa­ra­dise.

Here on earth ye can but clasp
Things that per­ish in the grasp:
Lift your hearts, then, to the skies;
God Him­self shall be your prize.

Praise we now with saints at rest
Father, Son, and Spir­it blest;
For His pro­mis­es are sure,
His re­wards shall aye en­dure.