Morn of morns, and day of days!
Beauteous were thy new­born rays:
Brighter yet from death’s dark pri­son
Christ, the Light of lights, is ris­en.

He com­mand­ed, and His Word
Death and the dread cha­os heard;
Oh, shall we, more deaf than they,
In the chains of dark­ness stay?

Nature yet in sha­dow lies;
Let the sons of light arise,
And pre­sent the morn­ing rays
With sweet can­ti­cles of praise.

While the dead world sleeps around,
Let the sac­red tem­ples sound
Law, and pro­phet, and blest psalm
Lit with ho­ly light so calm.

Unto hearts in slum­ber weak
Let the hea­ven­ly trum­pet speak;
And a new­er walk ex­press
Their new life to right­eous­ness.

Grant us this, and with us be,
O Thou fount of cha­ri­ty,
Thou who dost the Spir­it give,
Bidding the dead let­ter live.

Glory to the Fa­ther, Son,
And to Thee, O Ho­ly One,
By whose quick­en­ing breath di­vine
Our dull spir­its turn and shine.