By night I see the glory of the coming of the Lord. He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored. He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his jealous swift sword. His truth is marching on. Glory, glory, hallelujah. Glory, glory, hallelujah. Glory, glory, hallelujah. His truth is marching on. I have seen him in the woods that of a hundred circling gaths may have builded in an altar in the evening dews and damps. I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and glaring lamps. His day is marching on. Glory, glory, hallelujah. Glory, glory, hallelujah. Glory, glory, hallelujah. His truth is marching on. On. In the beauty of the lily, Christ was born across the sea. With the glory in his bosom, as the saviors do not leave. As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free. Our God is marching on. Glory, glory, hallelujah. Glory, glory, hallelujah. Glory, glory, hallelujah. His truth is marching on. Amen. Amen.