The day draws on with golden light,
glad songs go echoing through the height,
the broad earth lifts an answering cheer,
the deep makes moan with wailing
For lo, he comes, the mighty King,
to take from death his power and sting,
to trample down his gloomy
and break the weary prisoner's chain.
Enclosed he lay in rocky cell,
with guard of armèd
but thence returning, strong and free,
he comes with pomp of jubilee.
The sad apostles mourn him
nor hope to see their Lord again;
their Lord, whom rebel thralls defy,
arraign, accuse and doom to die.
But now they put their grief away,
the pains of hell are loosed today;
for by the grave, with flashing eyes,
"Your Lord is risen," the
Make of all, to thee we pray,
fulfill in us thy joy today;
when death assaults, grant, Lord, that
may share thy paschal mystery.
To thee, who, dead, again dost live,
all glory, Lord, thy people
all glory, as is ever meet,
to Father and to Paraclete.