Mine Eyes Have Seen The Glory Of The
Coming Of The Lord ;
He Is Trampling Out The Vintage Where
The Grapes Of Wrath Are Stored ;
He Hath Loosed The Fateful Lightning
Of His Terrible, Swift Sword
Our God Is Marching On.

Glory ! Glory ! Hallelujah!
Glory ! Glory ! Hallelujah !
Glory ! Glory I Hallelujah !
Our God Is Marching On.

I Have Seen Him In The Watch-Fires
Of A Hundred Circling Camps
They Have Builded Him An Altar In
The Evening Dews And Damps
I Can Read His Righteous Sentence By
The Dim And Flaring Lamps
Our God Is Marching On.

He Has Sounded Forth The Trumpet
That Shall Never Call Retreat ;
He Is Sifting Out The Hearts Of Men
Before His Judgment-Seat
Oh, Be Swift, My Soul, To Answer
Him ! Be Jubilant, My Feet !
Our God Is Marching On.

In The Beauty Of The Lilies, Christ Was
Born Across The Sea,
With A Glory In His Bosom That
Transfigures You And Me
As He Died To Make Men Holy, Let Us
Die To Make Men Free,
While God Is Marching On.