All Is O'er The Pain, The Sorrow

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All is o�er, the pain, the sorrow,
Human taunts and fiendish spite;
Death shall be despoiled tomorrow
Of the prey he grasps tonight;
Yet awhile, His own to save,
Christ must linger in the grave.

Dark and still the cell that holds Him,
While in brief repose He lies;
Deep the slumber that enfolds Him,
Veiled awhile from mortal eyes;
Slumber such as needs must be
After hard won victory.

Fierce and deadly was the anguish
Which on yonder cross He bore;
How did soul and body languish
Till the toil of death was o�er:
But that toil, so fierce and dread,
Bruised and crushed the serpent�s head.

All night long, with plaintive voicing,
Chant His requiem soft and low:
Loftier strains of loud rejoicing
From tomorrow�s harps shall flow:
�Death and hell at length are slain!
Christ hath triumphed! Christ doth reign!�
 

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