H. Burton

THERE’S a light upon the mountains,

And the day is at the spring,

When our eyes shall see the beauty

And the glory of the King;

Weary was our heart with waiting,

And the night-watch seemed so long,

But His triumph-day is breaking,

And we hail it with a song.


In the fading of the starlight

We can see the coming morn;

And the lights of men are paling

In the splendors of the dawn;

For the eastern skies are glowing

As with lights of hidden fire,

And the hearts of men are stirring

With the throb of deep desire.


There’s a hush of expectation,

And a quiet in the air;

And the breath of God is moving

In the fervent breath of prayer;

For the suffering, dying Jesus

Is the Christ upon the throne,

And the travail of our spirits

Is the travail of His own.


He is breaking down the barriers,

He is casting up the way;

He is calling for His angels

To build up the gates of day;

But His angels here are human,

Not the shining hosts above,

For the drum-beats of His army

Are the heart-beats of our love.


Hark! we hear a distant music,

And it comes with fuller swell;

’Tis the triumph song of Jesus,

Of our King Emmanuel;

Zion, go ye forth to meet Him,

And my soul, be swift to bring

All thy sweetest and thy dearest

For the triumph of our King.


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