O Israel, to Thy Tents Repair

O Israel

to thy tents re­pair!

Why thus se­cure on hos­tile ground?

Thy King com­mands thee to be­ware;

For ma­ny foes thy camp sur­round.

The trum­pet gives a mar­tial strain:

O Israel

gird thee for the fight!

Arise

the combat to main­tain

And put thine ene­mies to flight.

Thou shouldst not sleep

as oth­ers do;

Awake! be vi­gi­lant

be brave!

The cow­ard

and the slug­gard too

Must wear the fet­ters of the slave.

A nob­ler lot is cast for thee:

A king­dom waits thee in the skies;

With such a hope

shall Is­ra­el flee

Or yield through wea­ri­ness the prize?

No! let a care­less world re­pose

And slum­ber on through life’s short day

While Is­ra­el to the con­flict goes

And bears the glo­ri­ous prize away.