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Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:

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He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;

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He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:

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His truth is marching on.

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Glory, glory, hallelujah!

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Glory, glory, hallelujah!

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Glory, glory, hallelujah!

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His truth is marching on.

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I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps,

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They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;

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I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:

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His day is marching on.

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I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:

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"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;

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Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,

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Since God is marching on."

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He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;

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He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat:

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Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!

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Our God is marching on.

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In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,

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With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:

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As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,

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While God is marching on.

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He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave,

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He is Wisdom to the mighty, He is Succour to the brave,

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So the world shall be His footstool, and the soul of Time His slave,

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Our God is marching on.

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