The battle is the Lord's! Stand still, my soul, and view!
Moody gothic rock lament for a toppled throne in plague-ravaged spires, reverb-drenched guitars and tribal toms, velvet baritone vocals weaving tales of cursed bloodlines, organ swells for dread, 100 BPM, like The Cure's Disintegration echoing through gothic apocalypse, "
The battle is the Lord's! Stand still, my soul, and view!
Moody gothic rock lament for a toppled throne in plague-ravaged spires, reverb-drenched guitars and tribal toms, velvet baritone vocals weaving tales of cursed bloodlines, organ swells for dread, 100 BPM, like The Cure's Disintegration echoing through gothic apocalypse, "
Lyrics
The battle is the Lord's!
The harvest fields are white;
how few the reaping hands appear,
their strength how slight!
Yet victory is sure,
we face a vanquished foe;
then forward with the risen Christ
to battle go!
The battle is the Lord's!
Not ours in strength or skill,
but His alone in sovereign grace,
to work His will.
Ours, counting not the cost,
unflinching, to obey;
and in His time His holy arm
Will win the day.
The battle is the Lord's!
The Victor crucified
must with the travail of His soul
be satisfied.
The powers of hell shall fail,
and all God's will be done,
'til every soul whom He has given
to Christ be won.
The battle is the Lord's!
Stand still, my soul, and view
the great salvation God has wrought,
revealed for you.
Then, resting in His might,
lift high His triumph song,
for power, dominion, kingdom, strength
to God belong!