Quickly. With dark brown flood it crowns the bowl.
Let this last draught, my mingling and my choice,
With blithesome heart be quaffed, and joyful voice,
A solemn greeting to the rising morn!
[A sound of bells is heard, and distant quire-singing.
Quire of Angels.
Christ is arisen!
Joy be to mortal man,
Whom, since the world began,
Evils inherited,