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.

As in the ancient days appear!
The sacred annals speak Thy fame;
Be now omnipotently near,
To endless ages still the same.

By death and hell pursued in vain,
To Thee the ransomed seed shall come;
Shouting, their heav’nly Sion gain,
And pass through death triumphant home.

Recordings none