The flush of morn is on the mountains
To drive away the night of sin;
Lift up your heads, O hind'ring portals,
And let the King of glory in!
CHORUS
He comes, he comes, the King of glory!
The light of life upon his brow.
Hail him ye nations, hail him! hail him!
The King of kings, behold him now.
The flush of morn is on the mountains,
And onward steals to farthest plain.
Awake, O earth! the day is dawning;
He comes whose right it is to reign.
Tho' round about him clouds and darkness
Obscure the beams of dawning day,
Above the clouds, upon the mountains,
The watchers see the morning ray.