Rise, O royal one, blood-bought and scarred,
Authentic, born again—though the night is hard.
The battle is not gentle.
It claws. It burns. It blinds.
Arrows whistle, accusations scream,
Wounds reopen in the oldest dream.

Yet still—
We stand in victory!
You stand in victory!

The war was won when mercy bled,
When Love hung dying and rose instead.
The serpent’s head is crushed beneath His feet—
What rages now is rage in defeat.

The fight is brutal, the night is long,
Tears carve rivers where hope feels wrong.
Conscience condemns, the heart grows faint,
But God is greater—His truth won’t taint.

No condemnation can rewrite the score,
The cross has spoken forevermore.
We walk in Spirit, though flesh still fights,
Carrying scars that prove the Light.

Rise anyway.
Proclaim through grit and groan:

We stand in victory!
You stand in victory!

Not because the battle ever eased its hand,
But because the Conqueror already planned—
Every tear recorded, every blow repaid,
Victory not imagined—victory made.

It is finished.
Even when hell howls loud.
Even when gentleness hides in the crowd.

Rise.
Proclaim.
Stand.
Unbroken.
Unshaken.

Keep rising.
Keep proclaiming.
Even on the days when your voice shakes,
the declaration doesn’t.

We stand in victory!
You stand in victory!

Forever sealed in His blood,
forever held in His hands.