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On this sweet morn my Lord arose,
Triumphant o'er the grave!
He dies to vanquish all my foes,
And lives again to save.
I bless the Lord. and hail the morn,
It is my Lord's own day;
And faithful souls will surely scorn
To doze the hours away.
This is the day for holy rest,
Yet clouds will gather soon,
Except my Lord become my guest,
And put my harp in tune.
No heavenly fire my heart can raise
Without the Spirit's aid;
His breath must kindle prayer and praise,
Or I am cold and dead.
On all the flocks thy Spirit pour,
And saving health convey;
A sweet, refreshing Sunday shower
Will make them sing and pray.
Direct thy shepherds how to feed
The flocks of thy own choice;
Give savour to the heavenly bread,
And bid the folds rejoice.
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marker 99
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LYRICS
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Meter:
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8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
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Writer(s):
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Trans/Adapted:
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Dates:
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Bible Refs:
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Ps 118:24;
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LIST OF LYRIC SOURCES
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Hymn/Song Book
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Year
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Song #
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| 1815 | # 543 |
MUSIC
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Name:
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LLOYD
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Meter:
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8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
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Writer(s):
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Dates:
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LIST OF MUSIC SOURCES
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Hymn/Song Book
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Song #
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Key
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| # 50 | Eb | | # 79 | Eb | | # 29 | F | | # 230 | No key |
echo ' | ';
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Hymn Writer
