The morning light is breaking, The darkness disappears; The sons of earth are waking, To penitential tears: Each breeze that sweeps the ocean Brings tidings from afar, Of nations in commotion, Prepared for Zion's war. Rich dews of grace come o'er us, In many a gentle show'rs, And brighter scenes before us, Are op'ning ev'ry hour: Each cry to heaven going, Abundant answers brings, And heav'nly gales are blowing With peace upon their wings. See heathen nations bending Before the God we love, And thousand hearts ascending In gratitude above; While sinners now confessing The Gospel call obey, And seek the Saviour's blessing A nation in a day.