O Israel, to thy tents repair!
Why thus secure on hostile ground?
Thy King commands thee to beware;
For many foes thy camp surround.
The trumpet gives a martial strain:
O Israel, gird thee for the fight!
Arise, the combat to maintain,
And put thine enemies to flight.
Thou shouldst not sleep, as others do;
Awake! be vigilant, be brave!
The coward, and the sluggard too,
Must wear the fetters of the slave.
A nobler lot is cast for thee:
A kingdom waits thee in the skies;
With such a hope, shall Israel flee,
Or yield through weariness the prize?
No! let a careless world repose,
And slumber on through life’s short day,
While Israel to the conflict goes,
And bears the glorious prize away.