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 has loosed the fateful lightning of his
terrible swift sword:
His truth is marching on.
Glory, glory, alleluia!
Glory, glory, alleluia!
Glory, glory, alleluia!
His truth is marching on.

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall
never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his
judgement-seat:
O be swift, my soul, to answer him; be jubilant,
my feet!
Our God is marching on.
Glory, glory, alleluia!
Glory, glory, alleluia!
Glory, glory, alleluia!
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 live to
make men free,
While God is marching on.
Glory, glory, alleluia!
Glory, glory, alleluia!
Glory, glory, alleluia!
While God is marching on.


Julia Ward Howe (1819-1910)