Chorus of Disciples. Has the grave's lowly one
Risen victorious?
Sits he, God's Holy One,
High-throned and glorious?
He, in this blest new birth,
Rapture creative knows;[9]
Ah! on the breast of earth
Taste we still nature's woes.
Left here to languish
Lone in a world like this,
Fills us with anguish
Master, thy bliss!
Chorus of Angels. Christ has arisen
Out of corruption's gloom.
Break from your prison,
Burst every tomb!
Livingly owning him,
Lovingly throning him,
Feasting fraternally,
Praying diurnally,
Bearing his messages,
Sharing his promises,
Find ye your master near,
Find ye him here![10]
BEFORE THE GATE.
Pedestrians of all descriptions stroll forth.
Mechanics' Apprentices. Where are you going to carouse?
Others. We're all going out to the Hunter's House.
The First. We're going, ourselves, out to the Mill-House, brothers.
An Apprentice. The Fountain-House I rather recommend.
Second. 'Tis not a pleasant road, my friend.
The second group. What will you do, then?