1.Rise again, ye lion-hearted,
saints of early Christendom.
Whither is your strength departed,
whither gone your martyrdom?
Lo, love's light is on them,
Glory's flame upon them,
And their will to die doth quell,
E'en the lord and prince of hell.

2.These the men by fear unshaken,
Facing danger dauntlessly;
These no witching lust hath taken,
Lust that lures to vanity.
Mid the roar and rattle
Of tumultuous battle
In desire they soar above
All that earth would have them love.

3.Great of heart, they know not turning,
Honor, gold they laugh to scorn.
Quench desires within them burning,
By no earthly passion torn.
Mid the lions roaring,
Songs of praise out-pouring,
Joyously they take their stand
On the arena's bloody sand.

4.Would to God that I might even,
As the martyred saints of old,
With the helping hand of Heaven,
Steadfast stand in battle bold!
O my God, I pray Thee,
In the combat stay me.
Grant that I may ever be
Loyal, staunch, and true to Thee.