Again the morn of gladness,
The morn of light, is here;
And earth itself looks fairer,
And Heaven itself more near;
The bells, like angel voices,
Speak peace to every breast;
And all the land lies quiet
To keep the day of rest.
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Glory be to Jesus,
Let all His children say;
He rose again, He rose again,
On this glad day.
Again, O loving Savior,
The children of Thy grace
Prepare themselves to seek Thee
Within Thy chosen place.
Our song shall rise to greet Thee,
If Thou our hearts wilt raise;
If Thou our lips wilt open,
Our mouth shall show Thy praise.
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The shining choir of angels
That rest not day or night,
The crowned and palm-decked martyrs,
The saints arrayed in white,
The happy lambs of Jesus,
In pastures fair above,
These all adore and praise Him,
Whom we, too, praise and love.
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The Church on earth rejoices
To join with these today;
In every tongue and nation
She calls her sons to pray;
Across the northern snow fields,
Beneath the Indian palms,
She makes the same pure offering,
And sings the same sweet psalms.
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Tell out, sweet bells, His praises!
O let us sing His Name!
Still louder and still farther
His mighty deeds proclaim;
Till all whom He redeemèd
Shall own Him Lord and King,
Till every knee shall worship,
And every tongue shall sing.
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