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. Great God 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. |
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