Does he faint? There is cheer for his soul and delight for his head.
Do we trumpet our gain? Do we sing of our land and its thunder
Of factory, query and mill?
Lo! look to the woman! Her love, her love, it hath compassed the wonder,
And the army swings on at her will.
For hers is the whip, and her spur is the fighter’s salvation—
In the strength of Jehovah she comes.
Her faith is the sword and her thrift is the shield of the nation,
And her courage is greater than drums.
March, march, march, to your victories, O man!