The Gospel Triumphant.
1 Still in shades of midnight darkness
Abject sits the Pagan world;
There the banner of salvation
Ne'er hath been by time unfurled;
Nor their idols
From their blood-stained altars hurled.
2 Yet the promise stands securely,
And Messiah's reign shall spread;
Not in vain his glorious conquest;
Not in vain the Saviour bled.
Chief immortal!
God's own hand hath crowned thy head.
3 To this blessed dispensation
Millions yet unborn shall fly;
See the rising splendor beaming
Till it gilds the western sky.
Glorious Gospel!
Still thy triumphs multiply.