Our Holy Cause in concord stands,
Majestic, blest, serene.
And from Her Horeb height commands,
An army, vast, supreme.
The watchword of this faithful band,
Is full of wondrous grace,
For o'er their standards, lofty, grand,
You see the Saviour's face.
Throughout the ranks you find no fear,
For on their brows doth shine,
A Christly emblem, flawless, clear
Which is the light divine.
All pain and discord must retreat,
Before these heirs of Love,
For on their armor forged complete,
There rests the sacred dove.
They fight the foe of error grim,
Which slays the sons of man,
For these brave soldiers know that sin,
Is an illusive ban.
So through the mighty thought of Good,
They sweep along the line,
With such a force, as hath withstood,
And left of death no sign.
Copyrighted by Chancie De Witt, 1894.
Real glory
Springs from the quiet conquest of ourselves
And without that the conqueror is nought
But the first slave..
All contributions for the Church Building Fund should be sent to Stephen A. Chase, treasurer, Box 136, Fall River, Mass.
