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.