1 The bright eternal day is breaking,
My soul is thrill’d with glad surprise;
This life is but the mist of morning
That dims the hills of Paradise.
O morning land, bright morning land,
O woods and vales and hills of glory,
O Paradise of sacred story!
I soon shall reach thy shining strand,
O morning land, bright morning land!
2 My tired eyes grew dim with watching,
For him of whom it is foretold
That he should come in all his glory,
And I should then my King behold. [Refrain]
3 My falt’ring steps had surely failed me,
But for my Savior’s guiding hand;
At last my weary feet are standing
Where I can see the promised land. [Refrain]
4 And almost ev’ry day some loved one,
Touch’d by an unseen angel hand,
Leaves all and thro’ the mist and shadow,
Goes over to the morning land. [Refrain]
Source: The Finest of the Wheat: hymns new and old, for missionary and revival meetings, and sabbath-schools #56