Deep the slumber that enfolds him,
Veiled awhile from mortal eyes;
Slumber such as needs must be
After hard won victory.
“Near this tomb, with voice of sadness,
Chant the anthem sweet and low;
Loftier strains of praise and gladness
From to-morrow’s harps shall flow;
Death and hell at length are slain,
Christ hath triumphed, Christ doth reign.”