1 The mighty angel, to whose hand
The word of life is given,
Waves his broad wing o'er sea and land,
And, soaring, cleaves the heaven.

2 And say, shall aught oppose his flight,
Or cloud his flaming scroll?
No! not till truth with holy light
Shall visit every soul.

3 Not till blessed Peace shall spring to birth,
And hated sheathe his sword;
Not till the nations of the earth
Are subject to the Lord.