By cool Siloam's shady rill How sweet the lily grows!

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid.

The Son of God goes forth to war, A kingly crown to gain; His blood red banner streams afar: Who follows in His train?

From Greenland's icy mountains, From India's coral strand, Where Afric's sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand.