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MORNING COMETH

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Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Aug 28, 1860

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 16, No. 15.

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MORNING COMETH.

By A. L. Wilkinson

The morning cometh, lo! 'tis nigh, Behold far in the eastern sky Its dawning rays appear. With joy the saints the day behold, By ancient prophets long foretold, In glory drawing near.
Lift up your heads ye sorrowing ones, Behold your King, Immanuel comes In beauty and in power; Then those dear ones death tore from you, Will rise again and greet your view In that triumphant hour.
Hail then with joy the rising beams, For brighter, brighter now it gleams— That grand auspicious morn. We'll meet them there, the loved and lost Who died in Jesus; what a host, From death's rude grasp are torn.
O sing for joy thou mourning saint, Come dry your tears you must not faint, The prize is almost won. For those who to the end endure, The promise of our Lord is sure, He'll say to thee, "Well done,"
O swifter waft, ye wings of time, And bear us to that blessed clime To meet our Saviour there, When he shall come the Prince of peace, When all our pains and griefs shall cease, And endless joys we share. A. L. WILKINSON. Owosso, Mich.