His cheer­ing mes­sage from the grave
An an­gel to the wo­men gave:
Full soon your mas­ter ye shall see;
He goes be­fore to Ga­li­lee.

But while with fly­ing steps they press
To bear the news, all ea­ger­ness,
Their Lord, the liv­ing Lord, they meet,
And pros­trate fall to kiss His feet.

So when His mourn­ing fol­low­ers heard
The tid­ings of that faith­ful word,
Quick went they forth to Ga­li­lee,
Their loved and lost once more to see.

On that fair day of Pas­chal joy
The sun­shine was with­out al­loy,
When to their ve­ry eyes re­stored
They looked up­on the ris­en Lord.

The wounds be­fore their eyes dis­played
They see in liv­ing light ar­rayed,
And that they see they tes­ti­fy
In op­en wit­ness fear­less­ly.

O Christ, the King of gen­tle­ness,
Our se­ve­ral hearts do Thou pos­sess,
They we may ren­der all our days
Thy meed of thank­ful­ness and praise.

Maker of all, to Thee we pray,
Fulfill in us Thy joy to­day;
When death as­sails, grant, Lord, that we
May share Thy Pas­chal vic­to­ry.

To Thee who, dead, again dost live,
All glo­ry, Lord, Thy peo­ple give;
All glo­ry, as is ev­er meet,
To Fa­ther and to Pa­ra­clete.