Forth to the battle rides our King, He climbs His conquering car;
He fits His arrows to the string, And hurls His bolts afar.
Convictions pierce the stoutest hearts, They smart, they bleed, they die;
Slain by Immanuel’s well-aimed darts, In helpless heaps they lie.
Behold, He bares his two-edged sword, And deals almighty blows;
His all-revealing, killing Word ‘Twixt joints and marrow goes.
Who can resist Him in the fight? He cuts through coats of mail;
Before the terror of His might The hearts of rebels fail.
Anon, arrayed in robes of grace He rides the trampled plain,
Victor alike in love and arms, Myriads around Him bend;
None love Him more than those He slew; His love their hate has slain;
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