Surrounded by unnumbered foes,
Against my soul the battle goes;
Yet though I weary, sore distressed,
I know that I shall reach my rest:
I lift my tearful eyes above—
His banner over me is love.
Its sword my spirit will not yield,
Though flesh may faint upon the field;
He waves before my fading sight
The branch of palm, the crown of light:
I lift my brightening eyes above—
His banner over me is love.
My cloud of battle-dust may dim,
His veil of splendor curtain Him;
And in the midnight of my fear
I may not feel Him standing near:
But, as I lift mine eyes above,
His banner over me is love.