Come, let us to the Lord our God
With con­trite hearts re­turn;
Our God is gra­cious, nor will leave
The de­so­late to mourn.

His voice com­mands the tem­pest forth
And stills the stor­my wave;
And though His arm be strong to smite,
’Tis also strong to save.

Long hath the night of sor­row reigned,
The dawn shall bring us light;
God shall ap­pear, and we shall rise
With glad­ness in His sight.

Our hearts, if God we seek to know,
Shall know Him, and re­joice;
His com­ing like the morn shall be,
Like morn­ing songs His voice.

As dew up­on the ten­der herb
Diffusing frag­rance round,
As show’rs that ush­er in the spring,
And cheer the thirs­ty ground.

So shall His pre­sence bless our souls,
And shed a joy­ful light;
That hal­lowed morn shall chase away
The sor­rows of the night.