Who is this that comes from Ed­om,
All His gar­ments stained with blood;
To the slave pro­claim­ing free­dom;
Bringing and be­stow­ing good;
Glorious in the garb He wears,
Glorious in the spoils He bears?

’Tis the Sav­ior, now vic­to­ri­ous
Traveling on­ward in His might;
’Tis the Sav­ior, O how glo­ri­ous
To His peo­ple is the sight!
Jesus now is strong to save,
Mighty to re­deem the slave.

Why that blood His rai­ment stain­ing?
’Tis the blood of ma­ny slain;
Of His foes there’s none re­main­ing,
None the con­test to main­tain:
Fallen they are, no more to rise,
All their glo­ry pros­trate lies.

This the Sav­ior has ef­fect­ed
By His migh­ty arm alone;
See the throne for Him erect­ed;
’Tis an ev­er­last­ing throne:
’Tis the great re­ward He gains,
Glorious fruit of all His pains.

Mighty Vic­tor, reign for­ev­er,
Wear the crown so dear­ly won;
Never shall Thy peo­ple, ne­ver
Cease to sing what Thou hast done;
Thou hast fought Thy peo­ple’s foes;
Thou wilt heal Thy peo­ple’s woes.