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:

Blessèd jubilee!

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,

And redemption,

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.