Do You Hear Them Coming, Brother,
Thronging Up The Steeps Of Light,
Clad In Glorious Shining Garments,
Blood Washed, Garments Pure And White?
‘Tis A Glorious Church Without Spot Or Wrinkle,
Washed In The Blood Of The Lamb;
‘Tis A Glorious Church Without Spot Or Wrinkle,
Washed In The Blood Of The Lamb.
Do You Hear The Stirring Anthems,
Filling All The Earth And Sky,
‘Tis A Grand, Victorious Army,
Lift Its Banner Up On High!
Never Fear The Clouds Of Sorrow,
Never Fear The Storms Of Sin.
We Shall Triumph On The Morrow,
Even Now Our Joys Begin.
Wave The Banner, Shout His Praises,
For Our Victory Is Nigh!
We Shall Join Our Conquering Savior,
We Shall Reign With Him On High!
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