O brothers, lift your voice, 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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