Lo, in its brightness the morning arising,
Gold on the hilltops in richness is spread;
Heaven decks the earth with a beauty surprising,
Light is the victor, and darkness hath fled.
Lord of the morning, our souls are awaking,
Flood them with beauty, and free them from gloom;
Morn speaks of joy, for when morning was breaking,
Free from death’s bands Thou did’st rise from the tomb.
Souls that in slumber behold not the beauty,
See not the Master arise in His might;
Hear not the call to the doing of duty,
Know not the rapture that thrills in the light.
Morn speaks of life,—let us rise to new living,
Rise with the Lord to the freedom He gives,
Give to the world what the morning is giving,
Hope that was born in the darkness, and lives.
Lo, in its brightness the morning arising,—
Lord of the morning, our darkness dispel;
Shine in our souls, till, the sordid despising,
Rise we from earth in Thy presence to dwell.