Rise, Thou Light of Gen­tile na­tions,
Jesus, bright and Morn­ing Star;
Let Thy Word, the glad­some tid­ings,
Ring out loud­ly near and far,
Bringing free­dom to the cap­tives,
Peace and com­fort to the slave,
That the hea­then, free from bond­age,
May pro­claim Thy pow­er to save.

See the blind­ness of the hea­then,
Strangers to Thy glo­ri­ous light,
Straying hope­less till they find Thee,
Wandering aim­less in the night.
See their pi­ti­ful con­di­tion;
Lo, gross dark­ness co­vers all,
And no ray of hope re­fresh­es
Nor dis­pels the dread­ful pall.

If Thou, mer­ci­ful Re­deem­er,
Hadst not saved us from this plight,
In like dark­ness we would lang­uish
Hopeless, hel­pless, in sin’s night.
Lovingly Thou, Lord, didst seek us
In the beau­ty of Thy grace;
Now with joy we free­ly serve Thee,
We, Thy bless­èd, chos­en race.

Knowing Thee and Thy sal­va­tion,
Grateful love dare ne­ver cease
To pro­claim Thy ten­der mer­cies,
Gracious Lord, Thy hea­ven­ly peace.
Sound we forth the Gos­pel tid­ings
To the earth’s re­mot­est bound
That the sin­ner has been par­doned
And for­give­ness can be found.

May our zeal to help the hea­then
Be in­creased from day to day
As we plead in true com­pass­ion
And for their con­ver­sion pray.
For the many faith­ful her­alds,
For the Gos­pel they pro­claim,
Let us all be cheer­ful giv­ers
To the glo­ry of Thy name.

Savior, shine in all Thy glo­ry
On the na­tions near and far;
From the high­ways and the by­ways
Call them, O Thou Morn­ing Star.
Guide them whom Thy grace hath chos­en
Out of Sa­tan’s dread­ful thrall
To the man­sions of Thy Fa­ther—
There is room for sin­ners all.