1 O'er the gloomy hills of darkness,
Look, my soul, be still, and gaze;
All the promises do travail
With a glorious day of grace;
Let thy glorious morning dawn.
2 Let the Indian, let the Negro,
Let the rude Barbarian see,
That divine and glorious conquest
Once obtained on Calvary.
Soon resound from pole to pole.
3 Kingdoms wide that sit in darkness,
Grant them, Lord, the glorious light;
And from eastern coast to western,
May the morning chase the night;
From their long benighted eyes.
4 Fly abroad, thou mighty Gospel,
Win and conquer, never cease;
So Immanuel's fair dominions
Shall extend, and still increase,
Till the kingdoms
Of the world are all his own.
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