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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.
