On this morn we see the dawn­ing
Of a bright and glo­ri­ous Sun;
Night is ban­ished, sha­dows flee­ing,
Demons scat­ter, dev­ils run.
To the gar­den come the wo­men,
Bringing spic­es for the dead,
Wondering how to plead with sol­diers,
Guards of em­pire, armed and dread.

See, the emp­ty se­pul­cher greets them,
Heavy rock now rolled away;
No more sol­diers, nor a bo­dy,
Only grave cloths where He lay.
Seal of Cae­sar could not hold Him,
Nor a migh­ty door of stone;
King of kings, the Lord has tri­umphed,
He has tram­pled Sa­tan’s throne.

From the tomb a light is stream­ing,
Proving faith is not in vain;
In the morn­ing joy be­friends us,
Sacred mys­te­ry now made plain.
Can it be? The dead is liv­ing?
Yes, the Son has hell ov­er­come;
Angel mes­sen­ger pro­claim­ing:
See the pow­er of death un­done!

From the si­lent, stone cold pri­son,
God erupts in glo­ri­ous might;
Suffering ov­er, Christ has ris­en,
Ends the age of gloom and night.
Death, the fi­nal ene­my, con­quered,
Now we no more fear the grave;
Jesus died in place of sin­ners,
And He lives, al­migh­ty to save.