O’er those gloomy hills of dar­kness,
Look, my soul; be still, and gaze;
All the pro­mis­es do tra­vail
With a glo­ri­ous day of grace:
Blessèd ju­bi­lee!
Let thy glo­ri­ous morn­ing dawn.

Let the In­di­an, let the Ne­gro,
Let the rude bar­bar­ian see
That di­vine and glo­ri­ous con­quest
Once ob­tained on Cal­va­ry;
Let the Gos­pel, let the Gos­pel
Loud re­sound from ole to pole.

Kingdoms wide that sit in dark­ness,
Let them have the glo­ri­ous light;
And from east­ern coast to west­ern
May the morn­ing chase the night,
And re­demp­tion,
Freely pur­chased, win the day.

May the glo­ri­ous day ap­proach­ing,
On their gross­est dark­ness dawn,
And the ev­er­last­ing Gos­pel,
Spread abroad Thy ho­ly name,
All the bor­ders
Of the great Im­ma­nu­el’s land.

Fly abroad, thou migh­ty Gos­pel,
Win and conquer, ne­ver cease;
May thy last­ing wide do­min­ions
Multiply and still in­crease;
Sway thy scep­ter,
Savior! all the world around.