Classic Poem

Fair shines the morning-star;
The silver trumpet sounds—
Their notes re-echoing far,
While dawns the day around:
Joy to the slave!—the slave is free!
It is the year of Jubilee.

Pris'ners of hope!—in gloom
And silence left to die,
With Christ's unfolding tomb,
Your portals open fly;—
Rise with the Lord!—He sets you free:—
It is the year of Jubilee.

Ye, who have sold for nought
The land your fathers won!
Behold how God hath wrought
Redemption through his Son!
Your heritage again is free,
It is the year of Jubilee.

Ye, who yourselves have sold
For debts to justice due,
Ransom'd, but not with gold!
Christ gave himself for you;—
His precious blood has made you free,
It is the year of Jubilee.

Captives of sin and shame,
O'er earth and ocean, hear
An angel's voice proclaim
The Lord's accepted year:—
Ye captives! rise; ye slaves! be free;
It is the year of Jubilee.