The Eternal Spirit, by His fruits confessed,
In life secured from stains, and steel’d in death, the breast.
Bishop Mant.
The Son of God is gone to war,
A kingly crown to gain;
His blood-red banner streams afar;
Who follows in his train?
—Who best can drink his cup of woe,
Triumphant over pain;
Who boldest bears his cross below,—