On this sweet morn my Lord arose

Verse 1

On this sweet morn my Lord arose, Triumphant o'er the grave! He dies to vanquish all my foes, And lives again to save.

Verse 2

This is the day for holy rest, Yet clouds will gather soon, Except my Lord become my guest, And put my harp in tune.

Verse 3

No heavenly fire my heart can raise, Without the Spirit's aid; His breath must kindle pray'r and praise, Or I am cold and dead.

Verse 4

On all the flocks thy Spirit pour, And saving health convey; A sweet, refreshing Sunday show'r Will make them sing and pray.

Verse 5

Direct thy shepherds how to feed The flocks of thy own choice; Give savour to the heavenly bread, And bid the folds rejoice.