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to the Hill of Calvary

With our  ascending,

We deem that Cross our victory

'Neath which His knees are bending:—

What soldier is of generous strain?

One honour let him cherish;—

With upon the battle plain

A thousand times to perish!

On must the faithful warrior go

Whereso the Chief proceedeth;

And all true hearts will seek the foe

Where'er the Banner leadeth;—

Our highest victory,—it is loss:

No cup hath such completeness

Of gall, but that remembered Cross

Will turn it into sweetness!