See the gold up­on the hills,
See the op­al in the sky;
Trembling dawn each val­ley fills,
Christ’s own morn­ing draw­eth nigh.

His the king­dom, His the crown,
His the ag­es yet to be;
All the lands of fair re­nown,
And the is­lands of the sea.

All the hun­gers of the race,
All the wounds from which men cry:
All are met in Je­sus’ grace;
He doth heal and sa­tis­fy.

None are strang­ers to His care,
Royal gifts for all are free;
All man­kind His breth­ren are,
And the world His Ga­li­lee.

Victor He, when con­quer­ors fail,
King o’er all, when mon­archs die;
He shall through the earth pre­vail,
Win the last long vic­to­ry.

His the gold up­on the hills,
His the light across the sea;
His the pur­pose that ful­fills,
His the day that is to be.