I hold the fort alone —
against the armies sent from hell,
a man stands no more at my side.
I mark the place he fell,
and turn and walk away.
He did not say farewell.

I hold the fort alone —
I do what must be done.
Assembling my artillery,
I learn to hold a gun.
I take my weapons from the Word
that God sent through His Son,
and will not lay them down
until at last I’ve won.

I hold the fort alone —
my country torn and scarred,
one son a soldier far from home,
and one a prisoner of war,
while others struggle in the field
abused by men of greed
who hold back wages and deceive.

I hold the fort alone —
No man now holds my trembling hand
nor stands to shield me from a world
that preys upon the weak.
At times I falter in the fight
and death seems merciful and right.

Wounded, I lie upon the ground
and yet my darkness yields to light
as God, who sends his healing dawn,
says, “Child, I’ve been here all the night.”

I hold my fort alone —
bereft of any earthly help
but not entirely with dismay,
for though unseen, my mighty Lord
still sends His angels to surround
my solitary camp with swords
that keep the enemy at bay.