(From the Polemie.)

The Church of God appears but small,
But is surrounded by a wall,
Or now she would be slain:
For anti christ has grown so large,
And tries to grasp within his charge,
More than old Satan’s claim.

In all past ages, men have tried,
With their old master by their side,
To drive her from the plain;
But still she does exist, and will,
In spite of all old Satan’s skill,
And hell may rage in vain.

King Jesus, who doth all things well,
And bears the keys of death and hell,
Gives her the victory;
And in her hand the palm she bears,
And on her head the crown she wears,
Which he bestows so free.

When she shall sit in white array,
To praise her King in endless day,
High seated on a throne,
Her enemies shall on her gaze,
And view her in bright glory’s blaze,
While they in wrath sink down.

Author: Margaret M. A.

Signs of the Times
Volume 28, Number 9; May 1, 1860

Below are the songs that were made from the poem using AI. They are identified
by the genre of the music in paranthesis.