See the old dragon from his throne
Sink with enormous ruin down!
Banished from Heav’n, and doomed to dwell
Deep in the fiery gloom of hell!

Ye heav’ns with all your hosts, rejoice:
Ye saints, in consort lend your voice;
Approach your Lord’s vic­to­ri­ous seat,
And tread the foe beneath your feet.

But whence a conquest so divine
Gained by such feeble hands as mine?
Or whence can sinful mortals boast
O’er Satan and his rebel host?

’Twas from Thy blood, Thou slaughtered lamb,
That all our palms and triumphs came;
Thy cross, thy spear inflicts the stroke,
By which the monster’s head is broke.

Thy faithful Word our hope maintains
Through all our combat and our pains;
The accents of Thy heav’nly breath
Thy soldiers bear through wounds and death.

Triumphant Lamb, in worlds unknown,
With transport round Thy radiant throne,
Thy happy legions, all complete,
Shall lay their laurels at Thy feet.