John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in the grave, John Brown’s body lies slumbering in his grave— But John Brown’s soul is marching with the brave, His soul is marching on. Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! His soul is marching on. He has gone to be a soldier in the Army of the Lord; He is sworn as a private in the ranks of the Lord,— He shall stand at Armageddon with his brave old sword, When Heaven is marching on. He shall file in front where the lines of battle form, He shall face to front when the squares of battle form— Time with the column, and charge in the storm, Where men are marching on. Ah, foul Tyrants! do ye hear him where he comes? Ah, black traitor! do ye know him as he comes, In thunder of the cannon and roll of the drums, As we go marching on? Men may die, and molder in the dust— Men may die, and arise again from dust, Shoulder to shoulder, in the ranks of the Just, When Heaven is marching on. Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! His soul is marching on.
Words for the “Hallelujah Chorus”
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