ARM OF THE LORD

Arm of the Lord, awake, awake!

Thy power unconquerable take;

Thy strength put on, assert Thy might,

and triumph in the dreadful fight.




Why dost Thou tarry, mighty Lord?

Why slumbers in its sheath Thy sword?

O rouse Thee, for Thine honour‟s sake;

arm of the Lord, awake, awake!




Behold, what numbers still withstand

Thy sovereign rule and just command,

reject Thy grace, Thy threats despise,

and hurl defiance at the skies.




Haste then, but come not to destroy;

mercy is Thine, Thy crown, Thy joy:

their hatred quell, their pride remove,

but melt with grace, subdue with love.




Why dost Thou from the conquest stay?

Why do Thy chariot wheels delay?

Lift up Thyself, hell‟s kingdom shake;

arm of the Lord, awake, awake!