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.]