Great was the day, the joy was great,
When all the wait­ing dis­ci­ples met;
Whilst on their heads the Spi­rit came,
And sat like tongues of clov­en flame.

What gifts, what mi­ra­cles He gave!
And pow­er to kill, and pow­er to save!
He fur­nished their tongues with won­drous words,
Instead of shields, and spears and swords.

Thus armed, He sent the cham­pi­ons forth
From east to west, from south to north:
Go, and as­sert your Sav­ior’s cause;
Go, spread the mys­te­ry of His cross.

These wea­pons of the ho­ly war,
Of what al­migh­ty force they are
To make our stub­born pas­sions bow,
And lay the proud­est re­bel low!

Nations, the learn­èd and the rude,
Are by these heav­en­ly arms sub­dued;
While Sa­tan rag­es at his loss,
And hates the doc­trine of the cross.

Great King of Grace! my heart sub­due;
I would be led in tri­umph, too,
A will­ing cap­tive to my Lord,
And sing the vic­to­ries of His Word.