Arise, and hail the sac­red day,
Cast all low cares of life away;
And thoughts of mean­er things;
This day, to cure our dead­ly woes,
The Sun of Right­eous­ness arose
With heal­ing in His wings.

If an­gels on that hap­py morn
The Sav­ior of the world was born
Poured forth se­ra­phic songs,
Much more should we of hu­man race
Adore the won­ders of His grace,
To whom that grace be­longs.

How won­der­ful, how vast His love,
Who left the shin­ing realms above,
Those hap­py seats of rest;
How much for lost man­kind He bore,
Their peace and par­don to res­tore,
Can ne­ver be ex­pressed.

While we ad­ore His bound­less grace,
And pi­ous joy and mirth take place
Of sor­row, grief and pain,
Give glo­ry to our God on high,
And not, among the ge­ne­ral joy,
Forget good-will to men.

O then let Heav’n and earth re­joice,
Creation’s whole unit­ed voice,
And hymn the sac­red day,
When sin and Sa­tan van­quished fell,
And all the pow­ers of death and hell,
Before His so­ver­eign sway.