O day so often long’d for
Amidst the strife and toil;
O morning of clear shining
Over a reeking soil!
So Deborah and Barak
Sang when the fight was won;
(And so in higher accents we)
"May those that love Thee, Savior, be
Like to the rising sun."
Some have the morning waited
In cell and prison den;
And some in labor patient,
Ignored, unknown by men;
And many a wand'ring minstrel,
Across the desert way,
Awaits to sing the fullest praise,
Awaits his song of songs to raise
Before Thee on that day.
As the first rays illumine
The pure white Alpine snows,
And blushing to vermilion,
Each crag like coral glows—
The throne, the crown, the kingdom,
Will bright and glorious be
But still we seek a higher part
To fill the cup and crown the heart-
O blessed Lord, 'tis Thee!
'Tis Thou!—who know'st the secret
Of every burden'd soul;
Thou who canst tell each yearning,
And every wish control.
Who of devoted Mary,
such gracious words couldst say;
O guerdon great, O blessed choice
We too, would listen to Thy voice,
Our solace till that day.
There where all saints adoring
Thee, the exalted Head,
Obey Thy voice harmonious,
That voice that wakes the dead.
Above the light and splendor
Of all that bright array.
Without restraint, in fullest tone,
Shall rise Thy praise, for Thou alone
Couldst keep us till that day.