Now, host with host assembling,
The victory we win;
Lo! on his throne sits trembling
That old and giant Sin;
Like chaff by strong winds scattered,
His banded strength has gone,
His charmed cup lies shattered,
And still the cry is—“On.”

Our fathers’ God, our keeper!
Be Thou our strength divine!
Thou sendest forth the reaper,
The harvest all is Thine.
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Roll on, roll on this gladness,
Till, driven from every shore,
The drunkard’s sin and madness
Shall smite the earth no more!