He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible, swift sword,
His truth is marching on!
I have seen Him in the watchfires of a hundred circling camps,
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I have read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps,
His day is marching on!
There read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel;
“As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal!
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with His heel,
Since God is marching on!”