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

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.

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

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

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.

And let the endless bliss begin,
By weary saints foretold,
When right shall triumph over wrong,
And truth shall be extolled.

The King shall come when morning dawns,
And light and beauty brings—
Hail! Christ the Lord; Thy people pray,
Come quickly, King of kings.