1 Arm of the Lord, awake, awake!
thine own immortal strength put on;
with terror clothed, hell's kingdom shake
and cast thy foes forever down.

2 As in the ancient times appear;
the sacred annals speak thy fame:
be now omnipotently near,
to endless ages still the same.

3 Thy arm, Lord, is not shortened now;
it lacks not now the pow'r to save;
still present with thy people, thou
bear'st them through life's disparted wave.

4 By death and hell pursued in vain,
to thee the ransomed seed shall come,
shouting their heav'nly Zion gain,
and pass through death triumphant home.

5 Where pure essential joy is found,
the Lord's redeemed their heads shall raise,
with everlasting gladness crowned,
and filled with love, and lost in praise.