Come, ye faith­ful, raise the strain
Of tri­um­phant glad­ness;
God hath brought forth Is­ra­el
Into joy from sad­ness;
Loosed from Pha­raoh’s bit­ter yoke
Jacob’s sons and daugh­ters,
Led them with un­moist­ened foot
Through the Red Sea wa­ters.

’Tis the spring of souls to­day;
Christ has burst His pri­son,
And from three days’ sleep in death
As a sun hath ris­en;
All the win­ter of our sins,
Long and dark, is fly­ing
From His light, to whom we give
Laud and praise un­dy­ing.

Now the queen of sea­sons, bright
With the day of sple­ndor,
With the roy­al feast of feasts,
Comes its joy to ren­der;
Comes to glad Je­ru­sa­lem,
Who with true af­fect­ion
Welcomes in un­wear­ied strains
Jesus’ re­sur­rect­ion.

Neither might the gates of death,
Nor the tomb’s dark por­tal,
Nor the watch­ers, nor the seal
Hold Thee as a mor­tal;
But today amidst the twelve
Thou didst stand, be­stow­ing
That Thy peace which ev­er­more
Passeth hu­man know­ing.

Al­le­lu­ia! now we cry
To our king im­mor­tal,
Who, tri­um­phant, burst the bars
Of the tomb’s dark por­tal;
Al­le­lu­ia! with the Son,
God the Fa­ther prais­ing,
Al­le­lu­ia! yet again
To the Spir­it rais­ing.