1 "I lift my banners," saith the Lord,
"Where Antichrist has stood,
"The city of my gospel-foes
"Shall be a field of blood.

2 "My heart has study'd just revenge,
"And now the day appears,
"The day of my redeem'd is come
"To wipe away their tears.

3 "Quite weary is my patience grown,
"And bids my fury go
"Swift as the lightning it shall move,
"And be as fatal too.

4 "I call for helpers but in vain:
"Then has my gospel none?
"Well, mine own arm has might enough
"To crush my foes alone.

5 "Slaughter and my devouring sword
"Shall walk the streets around,
"Babel shall reel beneath my stroke,
"And stagger to the ground."

6 Thy honours, O victorious King!
Thine own right-hand shall raise,
While we thy awful vengeance sing,
And our deliverer praise.