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!