1 "I lift my banners," saith the Lord, "Where Antichrist has stood, "The city of my gospel-foes "Shall be a field of blood.
2 "My heart has study'd just revenge, "And now the day appears, "The day of my redeem'd is come "To wipe away their tears.
3 "Quite weary is my patience grown, "And bids my fury go "Swift as the lightning it shall move, "And be as fatal too.
4 "I call for helpers but in vain: "Then has my gospel none? "Well, mine own arm has might enough "To crush my foes alone.
5 "Slaughter and my devouring sword "Shall walk the streets around, "Babel shall reel beneath my stroke, "And stagger to the ground."
6 Thy honours, O victorious King! Thine own right-hand shall raise, While we thy awful vengeance sing, And our deliverer praise.