�I lift My banner,� saith the Lord,
�Where Antichrist has stood;
The city of My Gospel foes
Shall be a field of blood.

 

�My heart has studied just revenge,
And now the day appears;
The day of My redeemed is come
To wipe away their tears.

�Quite weary is My patience grown,
And bids My fury go;
Swift as the lightning it shall move,
And be as fatal too.

�I call for helpers, but in vain;
Then has My Gospel none?
Well, Mine own arm has might enough
To crush My foes alone.

�Slaughter and My devouring sword
Shall walk the streets around,
Babel shall reel beneath My stroke,
And stagger to the ground.�

Thy honors, O victorious King!
Thine own right hand shall raise,
While we Thy awful vengeance sing,
And our Deliv�rer praise.