The sons of God have risen from their places,
And all along the rampart of the sky
They gaze upon me with their silent faces:
For now the hour is come, the foe is nigh.
They flash their golden shields, they toss their lances,
The captain lifts aloft his flaming sword;
From North to South, across the world, it glances,
The fiery brand, the Glory of the Lord.

O silent host, O vision swiftly faded,
No strength, I know, avails me, but my own,
Look on unaiding, you who fought unaided,
For I will fight, as you have fought, alone —
I ask no help in what I have to do —
Victor or vanquished, I am one of you.