Lift up your heads, ye gates of brass
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Lift up your heads, ye gates of brass; Ye bars of iron, yield! And let the King of Glory pass: The Cross is in the field. That banner, brighter than the star That leads the train of night, Shines on the march, and guides from far His servants to the fight. A holy war those servants wage: In that mysterious strife The powers of heaven and hell engage, For more than death or life. Ye armies of the living God, Sworn warriors of Christ's host, Where hallowed footsteps never trod Take your appointed post. Though few and small and weak your bands, Strong in your Captain's strength, Go to the conquest of all lands: All must be his at length. The spoils at his victorious feet You shall rejoice to lay, And lay yourselves as trophies meet, In his great judgement day. Then fear not, faint not, halt not now; In Jesus' name be strong! To him shall all the nations bow, And sing the triumph song: Uplifted are the gates of brass, The bars of iron yield; Behold the King of Glory pass: The Cross hath won the field! |
Portae, cedatis, aeneae claustrumque ferreum, eunti Regi Gloriae cum Cruce in proelium. Vexillum stella clarius quae nocti praeparat eius viam militibus ad bellum indicat. Est bellum sacrum, mysticum: in illo dimicant de plure Bonum et Malum quam utri pereant. Nunc ite, exercitus Dei Christique legio, quo non prius pedes sacri, iubente Domino. Dux paucos debilesque vos fortis fortes facit; quot sunt domate populos: is horum rex erit. Victori praeda tum data sit ad pedes ei et vos, opima spolia, sedenti iudici. Vos ergo confortamini in Iesu nomine, cuius triumphum populi augebunt undique. Iam portae cedunt aeneae claustrumque ferreum; Rex bene gessit Gloriae cum Cruce proelium. |