The King shall come when morning dawns, And light triumphant breaks; When beauty gilds the eastern hills, And life to joy awakes. | Not as of old a little child To bear, and fight, and die, But crowned with glory like the sun That lights the morning sky. | O brighter than the rising morn When he, victorious, rose, And left the lonesome place of death, Despite the rage of foes; | O brighter than that glorious morn Shall this fair morning be, When Christ, our King, in beauty comes, And we his face shall see. | The King shall come when morning dawns, And earth's dark night is past; O haste the rising of that morn, The day that aye shall last; | And let the endless bliss begin, By weary saints foretold, When right shall triumph over wrong, And truth shall be extolled. | The King shall come when morning dawns, And light and beauty brings: Hail, Christ the Lord! Thy people pray, Come quickly, King of kings. | |