The morning light is breaking,
The darkness disappears;
The sons of earth are waking,
To penitential tears:
Each breeze that sweeps the ocean
Brings tidings from afar,
Of nations in commotion,
Prepared for Zion’s war.

Rich dews of grace come o’er us,
In many a gentle show’rs,
And brighter scenes before us,
Are op’ning ev’ry hour:
Each cry to heaven going,
Abundant answers brings,
And heav’nly gales are blowing
With peace upon their wings.

See heathen nations bending
Before the God we love,
And thousand hearts ascending
In gratitude above;
While sinners now confessing
The Gospel call obey,
And seek the Savior’s blessing
A nation in a day.

Recordings 1