At the Lamb’s high feast we sing,
Praise to our vic­to­ri­ous king,
Who hath washed us in the tide
Flowing from his pierc­èd side;
Praise we Him, whose love di­vine
Gives His sac­red blood for wine,
Gives His bo­dy for the feast,
Christ the vic­tim, Christ the priest.

Where the Pas­chal blood is poured,
Death’s dark an­gel sheathes his sword;
Israel’s hosts tri­um­phant go
Through the wave that drowns the foe.
Christ, our Pas­chal lamb, is slain,
Holy vic­tim, with­out stain;
Death and hell de­feat­ed lie,
Heav’n un­folds its gates on high.

Mighty Vic­tim from the sky,
Hell’s fierce pow­ers be­neath Thee lie;
Thou hast con­quered in the fight,
Thou hast brought us life and light;
Now no more can death ap­pall,
Now no more the grave en­thrall;
Thou hast opened pa­ra­dise,
And in Thee Thy saints shall rise.

Paschal tri­umph, East­er joy,
Only sin can this de­stroy;
From sin’s death do Thou set free
Souls re­born, O Lord, in Thee.
Hymns of glo­ry and of praise,
Father, to Thee we raise;
Risen Lord, all praise to Thee,
Ever with the Spi­rit be.