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;
Gird thy bridal robes around thee,
Morning dawns, Arise! Arise!



Watchman, see, the light is beaming,
Brighter still upon thy way;
Signs through all the earth are gleaming,
Omens of the coming day;
When the Jubal trumpet, sounding,
Shall awake from land and sea;
All the saints of God, now sleeping,
Clad in immortality.



Watchman, hail the light ascending,
Of the grand Sabbatic year;
All with voices loud proclaiming,
That the kingdom now is near;
Pilgrim, yes, I see just yonder,
Canaan’s glorious hights arise;
Salem, too, appears in grandeur,
Tow’ring ‘neath its sunlit skies.



Watchman, in the golden city,
Seated on his jasper throne;
Zion’s King, arrayed in beauty,
Reigns in peace from zone to zone;
There on sunlit hills and mountains,
Golden beams serenely glow;
Purling streams and crystal fountains,
On whose banks sweet flowers blow.



Watchman, see, the land is nearing,
With its vernal fruits and flow’rs;
On, just yonder, O 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.