1
The King shall come when morning dawns
And light triumphant breaks;
When beauty gilds the eastern hills,
And life to joy awakes.

2
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.

3
O, brighter than the rising morn
When He, victorious, rose
And left the lonesome place of death,
Despite the rage of foes.

4
O, brighter than that glorious morn
Shall this fair morning be,
When Christ, our King, in beauty comes,
And we His face shall see.

5
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.