Once, Gideon at God’s command
Took from his army great and grand
A chosen few, a little band
Of just three hundred;
The rank and file, to their dismay,
Were then discharged and sent away,
But with the few he won the day,
With those three hundred.
The brave three hundred,
The Lord’s three hundred;
O help us, Lord, to numbered be
With Thy three hundred.
Today we see church buildings stand
In every city of our land,
But in each fight God has a band,
His own three hundred;
Thro’ rain or shine, thro’ dark or light,
These soldiers stand up for the right,
And always win, tho’ fierce the fight,
God’s own three hundred.
Oh, help us, Lord, to watch and pray,
That we at last may hear Thee say,
Well done, ye nobly won the day,;
My own three hundred
Then, when there are no foes to fight,
In that blest land where comes no night,
O may we walk with Thee in white,
Thy saved three hundred.