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 hosannahs 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 hosannahs ring.