LYRIC

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.

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