1 O Israel, to thy tents repair:
Why thus secure on hostile ground?
Thy King commands thee to beware,
For many foes thy camp surround.

2 The trumpet gives a martial strain:
O Israel, gird thee for the fight!
Arise, the combat to maintain,
And put thine enemies to flight.

3 Thou shouldst not sleep, as others do;
Awake, be vigilant, be brave!
The coward and the sluggard too,
Must wear the fetters of the slave.

4 A nobler lot is cast for thee;
A kingdom waits thee in the skies:
With such a hope, shall Israel flee,
Or yield, through weariness, the prize?

5 No! let a careless world repose
And slumber on through life's short day,
While Israel to the conflict goes,
And bears the glorious prize away!