Watchman, tell me, does the morn­ing
Of fair Zi­on’s glo­ry dawn?
Have the signs that mark His com­ing
Yet up­on my path­way shone?
Pilgrim, yes, arise, look round thee,
Light is break­ing in the skies;
Spurn the un­belief that bound thee,
Morning dawns, arise, arise!

See the glo­ri­ous light as­cend­ing
Of the grand Sab­ba­tic year,
Hark! the voic­es loud pro­claim­ing
The Mes­si­ah’s king­dom near;
Watchman, yes; I see just yon­der,
Canaan’s glo­ri­ous heights arise;
Salem, too, ap­pears in gran­deur,
Towering ’neath her sun­lit skies.

Pilgrim, in that gold­en ci­ty,
Seated in the jas­per throne,
Zion’s king, ar­rayed in beau­ty,
Reigns in peace from zone to zone;
There, on ver­dant hills and mount­ains,
Where the gold­en sun­beams play,
Purling streams, and crys­tal foun­tains,
Sparkle in th’eter­nal day.

Pilgrim, see, the light is beam­ing
Brighter still up­on thy way;
Signs through all the earth are gleaming,
Omens of thy com­ing day,
When the last loud trum­pet sound­ing,
Shall awake from earth and sea,
All the saints of God now sleep­ing,
Clad in im­mor­ta­li­ty!

Watchman, lo, the land we’re near­ing
With its ver­nal fruits and flow­ers!
On just yon­der, O how cheer­ing!
Bloom for­ev­er Ed­en flow­ers.
Hark, the cho­ral strains are ring­ing,
Wafted on the bal­my air!
See the mill­ions! hear their sing­ing!
Soon the pil­grims will be there.