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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 shower,
and brighter scenes before us,
are opening every hour;
each cry to heaven going,
abundant answers brings,
and heavenly winds 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.
Blest river of salvation,
pursue thy onward way;
flow thou to every nation,
nor in thy richness stay:
stay not till all the lowly
triumphant reach their home;
stay not till all the holy
proclaim, "The Lord is come."