The long dispersed remnant of Jehovah's chosen race
Are flying from all nations to their ancient dwelling-place;
And the sinful world is surely in its closing-day of grace,
The Lord is just at hand.
In the valley of decision there's a battle drawing near,
Sectish Gog and Magog powers round about the saints appear;
But our God is our munition and our hearts shall never fear,
The victory is sure.
On the blissful heights of glory we will shout the battle o'er,
And in the golden city we will join the Conqueror,