In the early, early morning, beyond the islands green,

Beyond the pines and palm-trees, and the purple sea between,

Like the glow through a crimson window

The morning rises slow,

And the isles lie dim in the glory,

And the sea is all aglow.

In the dim and misty evening the purple mountains stand,

And the glooms that hush the woodlands lie over all the land,

And high in dark-blue heavens the red light burns and glows,

Like the jasper of God’s city, like the deep heart of the rose.

Oh why does morning dawn, and why ends the golden day,

With the crimson glow and glory, while children kneel and pray?

Is it thus that God would tell me before the day begins

Of the morn of the Day of pardon, the Blood that has washed my sins?

The morn of the Day of gladness, the Day of His love and grace,

When like the Sun in his glory, the Lord unveiled His Face,

And His love shone forth in beauty where all was dark before,

For the Blood had been shed which saved me, once and for evermore.

Is it thus that God would tell me the evening draweth nigh,

When we pass beyond the mountains, beyond the purple sky?

And then, in God’s great glory the golden gates I see,

And sing, “The Blood of Jesus has opened them for me!”