The chariots of the Lord are strong,

Their number passeth ken;

Mount them and fight against the wrong,

Ye who are valiant men.

Where, unabashed, the power of sin

Vaunts an unhindered sway,

Ride, in the strength of God, and win

Fresh laurels in the fray.

For freedom wield the sword of might,

And cut the bands that bind;

Strike boldly in the cause of right,

And still fresh laurels find.

Where hands are weak, and hearts are faint,

Through conflict sharp and sore;

Where hearts that murmur no complaint,

Shrink at the thought of more:

There let the power of God be shown,

To quell satanic might;

To rescue those who strive alone,

Despondent in the fight.

Ride on, the chariots of the Lord,

Dispel the hosts of sin;

Ye who are valiant, wield the sword,

And still fresh laurels win.