Fair shines the morn­ing star;
The sil­ver trum­pets sound,
Their notes re-ec­ho­ing far,
While dawns the day around:
Joy to the slave; the slave is free;
It is the year of Ju­bi­lee.

Prisoners of hope, in gloom
And si­lence left to die,
With Christ’s un­fold­ing tomb,
Your por­tals op­en fly;
Rise with the Lord—He sets you free;
It is the year of Ju­bi­lee.

Ye, who have sold for naught
The land your fa­thers won,
Behold how God hath wrought
Redemption through His Son;
Your heri­tage again is free,
It is the year of Ju­bi­lee.

Ye, who your­selves have sold
For debts to jus­tice due,
Ransomed, but not with gold,
He gave Him­self for you!
The blood of Christ hath made you free;
It is the year of Ju­bi­lee.

Captives of sin and shame,
O’er earth and ocean, hear
An an­gel’s voice pro­claim
The Lord’s ac­cept­ed year;
Let Ja­cob rise, be Is­ra­el free;
It is the year of Ju­bi­lee.