He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgement-seat;
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him, be jubilant, my feet;
Our God 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 can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps;
His day is marching on.
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom which transfigures you and me.
As He died to make men holy, let us live to make men free,