Lord of Hosts, that beholds us in battle, defending
The homes of our sires 'gainst the hosts of the foe,
Send us help on the wings of thy angels descending,
And shield from his terrors, and baffle his blow.
Warm the faith of our sons, till they flame as the iron,
Red-glowing from the fire-forge, kindled by zeal;
Make them forward to grapple the hordes that environ,
In the storm-rush of battle, through forests of steel!
Teach them, Lord, that the cause of their country makes glorious
The martyr who falls in the front of the fight;--
That the faith which is steadfast makes ever victorious
The arm which strikes boldly defending the right;--
That the zeal, which is roused by the wrongs of a nation,
Is a war-horse that sweeps o'er the field as his own;
And the Faith, which is winged by the soul's approbation,
Is a warrior, in proof, that can ne'er be o'erthrown.

Kentucky, She Is Sold