At East­er morn the lark, as­cend­ing,
Loud ca­roled forth her mer­ry lay,
To Heav’ns high dome her swift flight wend­ing
To greet with praise the new­born day.
And as she ca­roled, thus re­sound­ed
From field and grove glad na­ture’s voice:
Awake! let joy be now un­bound­ed,
Our Lord is ris­en, let all re­joice!

Awake! pour forth your streams, ye fount­ains!
And praise the Lord with glad­some heart;
Awake! and join the cho­rus, mount­ains!
Let ev­ery tree and plant take part.
Ye vio­lets in the mea­dows hid­ing,
Ye flow­er­ets all, with per­fumed breath,
Proclaim aloud the joy­ous tid­ings,
Love hath o’er­come the pow­er of death.

Awake! all ye who sloth­ful lang­uish,
Weighed down by wint­ry grief and care,
Oppressed by mourn­ing, filled with ang­uish,
Rouse ye from sleep—would ye des­pair?
Ye mourn­ers, of this life so wea­ry—
Dreaming, per­chance, of days long gone,
Awake no long­er sad and drea­ry,
The world, all na­ture is new-born!

Then wel­come all with ac­cla­ma­tion,
This sav­ing health the Lord doth bring;
Free par­don and a full sal­va­tion,
Is ut­tered to us by the spring.
Almighty pow­er new life hath giv­en,
Each twig, once dead, doth know the dawn;
Almighty pow­er the tomb hath riv­en—
Awake! It is the East­er morn!