Thy gates hath burst, thy bands hath torn,
Thyself hath trodden under
His feet; who doth in Him confide
Thy pow'r and claims may now deride
And say, “Thy sting, where is it?”
Thy pow'r is gone, 'tis broken quite,
And it can hurt him never
Who to this Prince with all his might
With heart and soul cleaves ever,
Who speaks with joy, “I live, and ye