IN the early, early morning, beyond the
islands green,
Beyond the pines and palm-trees, and the
purple sea between,
Like the glow through a crimson window
The morning rises slow,
And the isles lie dim in the glory,
And the sea is all aglow.
In the dim and misty evening the purple
mountains stand,
And the glooms that hush the woodlands lie
over all the land,
And high in dark-blue heavens the red light
burns and glows,
Like the jasper of God's city, like the deep
heart of the rose.
Oh why does morning dawn, and why ends
the golden day,
With the crimson glow and glory, while
children kneel and pray?
Is it thus that God would tell me before the
day begins
Of the morn of the Day of pardon, the Blood
that has washed my sins?
The morn of the Day of gladness, the Day of
His love and grace,
When like the Sun in his glory, the Lord
unveiled His Face,
And His love shone forth in beauty where
all was dark before,
For the Blood had been shed which saved
me, once and for evermore.
Is it thus that God would tell me the evening
draweth nigh,
When we pass beyond the mountains, beyond
the purple sky?
And then, in God's great glory the golden
gates I see,
And sing, "The Blood of Jesus has opened
them for me!”