Ye hum­ble souls, that seek the Lord,
Chase all your fears away;
And bow with plea­sure down to see
The place where Je­sus lay.

Thus low the Lord of life was brought;
Such won­ders love can do;
Thus cold in death that bo­som lay,
Which throbbed and bled for you.

A mo­ment give a loose to grief,
Let grate­ful sor­rows rise,
And wash the bloody stains away,
With tor­rents from your eyes.

Then raise your eyes, and tune your songs,
The Sav­ior lives again:
Not all the bolts and bars of death
The Con­quer­or could de­tain.

High o’er the an­gel­ic bands He rears
His once dis­hon­ored head;
And through un­num­bered years He reigns,
Who dwelt among the dead.

With joy like His shall ev­ery saint
His va­cant tomb sur­vey;
Then rise with his as­cend­ing Lord
Thro’ all His shin­ing way.