1 The battle is the Lord's!
The harvest fields are white;
how few the reaping hands appear,
their strength how slight!
Yet victory is sure,
we face a vanquished foe;
then forward with the risen Christ
to battle go!

2 The battle is the Lord's!
Not ours in strength or skill,
but his alone in sov'reign grace,
to work his will.
Ours, counting not the cost,
unflinching, to obey;
and in his time his holy arm
shall win the day.

3 The battle is the Lord's!
The Victor crucified
must with the travail of his soul
be satisfied.
The pow'rs of hell shall fail,
and all God's will be done,
'til ev'ry soul whom he has giv'n
to Christ be won.

4 The battle is the Lord's!
Stand still, my soul, and view
the great salvation God has wrought,
revealed for you.
Then, resting in his might,
lift high his triumph song,
for pow'r, dominion, kingdom, strength
to God belong!