154. Watchman, Tell Me.

Watchman, tell me, does the morning,
Of fair Zion’s glory dawn?
Have the signs that mark His coming,
Yet upon thy pathway shone?
Pilgrim, yes! Arise, look round thee;
Light is breaking in the skies;
Gird thy bridal robes around thee,
Morning dawns, Arise! Arise!

Watchman, see, the light is beaming,
Brighter still upon thy way;
Signs through all the earth are gleaming,
Omens of the coming day;
When the Jubal trumpet, sounding,
Shall awake from land and sea;
All the saints of God, now sleeping,
Clad in immortality.

Watchman, hail the light ascending,
Of the grand Sabbatic year;
All with voices loud proclaiming,
That the kingdom now is near;
Pilgrim, yes, I see just yonder,
Canaan’s glorious hights arise;
Salem, too, appears in grandeur,
Tow’ring ‘neath its sunlit skies.

Watchman, in the golden city,
Seated on his jasper throne;
Zion’s King, arrayed in beauty,
Reigns in peace from zone to zone;
There on sunlit hills and mountains,
Golden beams serenely glow;
Purling streams and crystal fountains,
On whose banks sweet flowers blow.

Watchman, see, the land is nearing,
With its vernal fruits and flow’rs;
On, just yonder, O how cheering!
Bloom forever Eden’s bow’rs,
Hark! The choral strains are ringing,
Wafted on the balmy air;
See the millions, hear them singing,
Soon the pilgrims will be there.