1 All hail to thee, O blessed morn!
To tidings long by prophets borne,
Hast Thou fulfillment given.
O sacred and immortal day,
When unto earth, in glorious ray,
Descends the grace of heaven!
Singing, Ringing,
Sounds are blending,
Praises sending
Unto heaven
For the Lord to mankind given.

2 ’Tis God’s own Image and, withal,
The Son of Man, that mortals all
May find in Him a brother.
He comes, with peace and love to bide
On earth, the erring race to guide,
And help, as could no other;
Rather Gather
Closer, fonder,
Sheep that wander,
Feed and fold them,
Than let evil powers hold them.

3 He tears, like other men, will shed,
Our sorrows share, and be our aid,
Through His eternal power;
The Lord’s good will unto us show,
And mingle in our cup of woe
The drops of mercy’s shower;
Dying, Buying
Through His passion
Our salvation
And to mortals
Opening the heavenly portals.

4 He comes, for our redemption sent,
And by His glory heaven is rent
To close upon us never:
Our blessed Shepherd He would be,
Whom we may follow faithfully
And be with Him forever;
Higher, Nigher
Glory winging,
Praises singing
To the Father
And His Son, our Lord and Brother.