Blest Morning, Whose Young Dawning Rays

Blest morn­ing

whose young dawn­ing rays

Beheld our ris­ing God

That saw Him tri­umph o’er the dust

And leave His dark ab­ode!

In the cold pri­son of a tomb

The dead Re­deem­er lay

Till the re­volv­ing skies had brought

The third

th’ap­point­ed day.

Hell and the grave unite their force

To hold our God in vain;

The sleep­ing Con­quer­or arose

And burst their fee­ble chain.

To Thy great name

al­migh­ty Lord

These sacr­ed hours we pay;

And loud ho­san­nas shall pro­claim

The tri­umph of the day.

Salvation and im­mor­tal praise

To our vic­tor­ious king;

Let Heav’n

and earth

and rocks

and seas

With glad ho­san­nas ring.