To cheer my dying hours,
To triumph o’er the monster death,
And all his frightful powers.
2 Joyful, with all the strength I have,
My quivering lips shall sing,
Where is thy boasted victory, grave?
And where the monster’s sting?
3 If sin be pardoned, I’m secure—
Death has no sting beside;
The law gives sin its damning power,