1 The flush of morn is on the mountains
To drive away the night of sin;
Lift up your heads, O hind'ring portals,
And let the King of Glory in!

Refrain:
He comes, he comes, the King of Glory,—
The light of life upon his brow.
Crown him ye nations, crown him! crown him!
The “King of kings,” behold him now.

2 The flush of morn is on the mountains,
And onward steals to farthest plain,
While valleys sing amid the dawning,—
“He comes whose right it is to reign!” [Refrain]

3 The desert flowers beneath his footstep,
And laughing waters leap to light,
The blind who sit in mourning midnight,
Receive from him eternal sight. [Refrain]

4 By all these signs the Conqueror cometh,
Tho’ powers of darkness strive to win;
Be lifted up, O gates, be lifted,
“The King of Glory shall come in.” [Refrain]