|Oh speed thee, brother, on thy way,|
And to thine armour cling:
With girded loins the call obey
That grace and mercy bring.
There is a battle to be fought,
An onward race to run,
A crown of glory to be sought,
A victory to be won.
Oh, faint not, brother, for thy sighs
Are heard before His throne;
The race must come before the prize
The cross before the crown.