Songs

Lift up your heads, ye gates of brass

		
309
				C.M.

1	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.

2	That banner, brighter than the star
	That leads the train of night,
	Shines on their march, and guides from far
	His servants to the fight.

3	A holy war those servants wage;
	In that mysterious strife;
	The powers of heav’n and hell engage
	For more than death or life.

4	Ye armies of the living God,
	Sworn warriors of Christ’s host,
	Where hallow’d footsteps never trod
	Take your appointed post.

5	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.

6	Those spoils at His victorious feet
	You shall rejoice to lay,
	And lay yourselves, as trophies meet,
	In His great judgment day.

7	Then fear not, faint not, halt not now;
	Quit you like men, be strong!
	To Christ shall all the nations bow,
	And sing the triumph song.

8	 “Uplifted are the gates of brass,
	The bars of iron yield;
	Behold the King of Glory pass;
	The cross hath won the field!”

							J. Montgomery