Sidney S. Brewer, pub.
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;
Spurn the unbelief that bound thee,
Morning dawns, arise, arise!
Pilgrim, in that golden city,
Seated in the jasper throne,
Zion’s King, arrayed in beauty,
Reigns in peace from zone to zone;
There, on verdant hills and mountains,
Where the golden sunbeams play,
Purling streams and crystal fountains
Sparkle in th’ eternal day.
Pilgrim, see, the light is beaming
Brighter still upon thy way;
Signs through all the earth are gleaming,
Omens of the coming day,
When the last loud trumpet, sounding,
Shall awake from earth and sea
All the saints of God now sleeping,
Clad in immortality!
Watchman, lo, the land we’re nearing
With its vernal fruits and flow’rs!
On just yonder, oh, 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.
