O'er those gloomy hills of darkness,
Look, my soul; be still, and gaze;
All the promises do travail
With a glorious day of grace:
Let thy glorious morning dawn.
Let the Indian, let the Negro,
Let the rude barbarian see
That divine and glorious conquest
Once obtained on Calvary;
Let the Gospel
Loud resound from ole to pole.
Kingdoms wide that sit in darkness,
Let them have the glorious light;
And from eastern coast to western
May the morning chase the night,
Freely purchased, win the day.
Fly abroad, thou mighty Gospel,
Win and conquer, never cease;
May thy lasting wide dominions
Multiply and still increase;
Sway thy scepter,
Savior! all the world around.