No, not Isis, nor yet Apollo’s throne,
No, nor even Death, with Lethean bands,
Shall longer bind the soul; before us stands
Him of the Cross of Calvary:—His groan
Of death burst forth from its eternal womb,
While angel spirits shout, and open wide the tomb!
Sing to the Lord! The Temple’s veil is rent!
From Moab’s plains, the Slave, an outcast, sent
From this cold world shall, soaring, fly to heaven,
From depths of Darkness, Night, and Orcus dread.