Maranatha

The King shall come when morning dawns, And light triumphant breaks; When beauty gilds the eastern hills, And life to joy awakes.	O brighter than that glorious morn Shall this fair morning be, When Christ, our king, in beauty comes, And we His face shall see.
Not as of old, a little child To bear, and fight, and die, But crowned with glory like the sun, That lights the morning sky.	The King shall come when morning dawns, And light and beauty brings— Hail! Christ the Lord; Thy people pray, "Come quickly, King of kings."
O brighter than the rising morn When He, victorious, rose, And left the lonesome place of death, Despite the rage of foes.