How sweet­ly the morn
Of the Sab­bath arose,
When Je­sus the con­queror
Had van­quished His foes,
Ascended from dark­ness,
Dispelling the night,
When dawned on the na­tions
The Gos­pel’s fair light.

And soon the bright morn­ing
Spread swift­ly and wide,
And awed in­to si­lence
The hosts that de­fied.
The band of dis­ci­ples
A ban­ner un­furled,
The Gos­pel’s white ban­ner,
To float o’er the world.

Still on­ward, and on­ward,
The bright­ness ad­vanced,
From ri­ver and gla­cier
The sun­ny beam danced;
The hea­then re­joiced
In the warmth of the ray,
And wel­comed in glad­ness
Messiah’s mild sway.

A dark­ness, a dark­ness—
All shroud­ed in gloom—
Oh, say, hath the Sav­ior
Returned to the tomb?
The world—must it wan­der
In sor­row again?
Oh, was the great stan­dard
Unfolded in vain?

All hail the white ban­ner!
’Tis wav­ing again;
Adieu then to dark­ness,
And er­ror, and pain.
For Bri­ton, and Gaul,
And the Swit­zer, there’s rest,
And light in the beau­ti­ful
Land of the west.

Strive on then, ye Chris­tians,
Be val­iant and strong;
Ne’er faint in the con­flict,
Although it be long—
And ne­ver re­frain
Till all er­ror is flown,
And earth bright and pure
For the bless­èd One’s throne.

Make room! we are com­ing,
The gen­tle and young;
Though weak now, and hum­ble,
We soon shall be strong.
The hosts of the hea­then
Shall hear of the Lamb,
And na­tions un­count­ed
Shall hon­or His name.