Arm of the Lord, Awake, Awake!

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.

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

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.

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.

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.