Lo! our Sun’s eclipse is o’er;
Lo! he sets in blood no more.
3 Vain the stone, the watch, the seal—
Christ hath burst the gates of hell;
Death in vain forbids his rise,
Christ hath opened paradise.
4 Lives again our glorious King!
Where, O Death, is now thy sting?
Once he died, our souls to save:
Where’s thy victory, boasting grave?