1 Arm of the Lord, awake, awake!
Thine own immortal strength put on!
With terror clothed, hell's kingdom shake,
And cast thy foes with fury down!
2 As in the ancient days 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 wants not now the power 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 heavenly Zion gain,
And pass through death triumphant home.
5 The pain of life shall there be o'er,
The anguish and distracting care,
There sighing grief shall weep no more,
And sin shall never enter there.
6 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.