Get up, get up, my hardy sons, From this time forth we are No longer men, but pikes and guns In God’s advancing war.

And if we live, we free the slave, And if we die, we die. But God has digged His saints a grave Beyond the western sky.

Oh, fairer than the bugle-call Its walls of jasper shine! And Joshua’s sword is on the wall With space beside for mine.

And should the Philistine defend His strength against our blows, The God who doth not spare His friend, Will not forget His foes.