I lift My ban­ner, sa­ith the Lord,
“Where An­ti­christ has stood;
The ci­ty of My Gos­pel foes
Shall be a field of blood.

“My heart has stu­died just re­venge,
And now the day ap­pears;
The day of My re­deemed is come
To wipe away their tears.

“Quite wea­ry is My pa­tience grown,
And bids My fu­ry go;
Swift as the light­ning it shall move,
And be as fa­tal too.

“I call for help­ers, but in vain;
Then has My Gos­pel none?
Well, Mine own arm has might enough
To crush My foes alone.

Slaughter and My de­vour­ing sword
Shall walk the streets around,
Babel shall reel be­neath My stroke,
And stag­ger to the ground.

Thy hon­ors, O vic­tor­ious King!
Thine own right hand shall raise,
While we Thy aw­ful ven­geance sing,
And our de­liv­er­er praise.