Mine eyes have seen the glory of the
coming of the Lord;
He is trampling out the vintage where the
grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of
his terrible swift sword:
His truth is marching on.
I have seen him in the watch-fires of a
hundred circling camps;
They have builded him an altar in the
evening dews and damps;
I can read his righteous sentence by the
dim and flaring lamps;
His day is marching on.
I have read a fiery gospel, writ in
burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you
my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the
serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on."
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall
never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before
his judgment-seat;
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer him!
be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was
born across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures
you and me:
As he died to make men holy, let us die to
make men free,
While God is marching on.
