Blow, gold­en trum­pets, sweet and clear,
Blow soft up­on the per­fumed air;
Bid the sad earth to join your song,
To Christ does vic­to­ry be­long.

O let the winds your mes­sage bear
To ev­ery heart of grief and care;
Sound thro’ the world the joy­ful lay,
Our Christ has con­quered death to­day.

On cloudy wings let glad words fly
Thro’ the soft blue of ec­ho­ing sky;
Ring out, O trum­pets, sweet and clear,
Thro’ death, im­mor­tal life is here.