D. W. Whittle


THERE’S a royal banner given for display

To the soldiers of the King;

As an ensign fair we lift it up today,

While as ransomed ones we sing.

Marching on, marching on,

For Christ count everything but loss!

And to crown Him King, toil and sing

’Neath the banner of the cross!


Though the foe may rage and gather as the flood,

Let the standard be displayed;

And beneath its folds, as soldiers of the Lord,

For the truth be not dismayed!


Over land and sea, wherever man may dwell,

Make the glorious tidings known;

Of the crimson banner now the story tell,

While the Lord shall claim His own!


When the glory dawns―’tis drawing very near―

It is hastening day by day―

Then before our King the foe shall disappear,

And the cross the world shall sway!


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