The vale of death in conquest hath been trod.
Break forth in joy, ye ransom’d! saith your God;
Swell ye the raptures of the song afar,
And hail with harps your bright and Morning Star.
He rose! the everlasting gates of day
Received the King of Glory on his way!
The hope, the comforter of those who wept,
And the first-fruits of them in Him that slept,
He rose, he triumph’d! he will yet sustain
Frail nature sinking in the strife of pain.