Morning spreads her crim­son rays,
Heav’n re­sounds with hymns of praise,
Through the earth loud an­thems swell,
Heard with rage in van­quished hell.

From the dark se­pul­chral gloom
See the King of Glo­ry come:
See Him now from bond­age freed
All His saints to day­light lead.

Vain the tomb se­curely barred,
Sealèd stone, and arm­èd guard:
Death is crushed, and finds his bier
In the Con­quer­or’s se­pul­cher.

Hence with mourn­ing, hence with tears,
Hence with anx­ious griefs and fears;
Death’s sub­du­er is not here,
Cries His an­gel min­is­ter.

That these thoughts of pas­chal joy
Ever may our minds em­ploy,
Dead to sin, Thy ser­vants give,
Lord, in ho­li­ness to live.

Now be God the Fa­ther praised,
With the Son in tri­umph raised
From the grave, His glo­ry’s heir,
And the bless­èd Com­fort­er.