THE stone is rolled away;
The grave is bid display
Her secrets; through her charnel-chambers rings
A voice; and lo, the dead
Lifts his awakened head,
Lo, the deaf hearkens to the King of kings.

O wondrous sight! Again
Life throbs in every vein:
Bound hand and foot and blindfold, on his way
The dead goes forth alive;
Doomed haply to survive
The multitude who mourn for him to-day.

Thus Death himself, our foe,
At last shall be laid low;
His chains rent piecemeal, and his slaves set free.
That, which Thy Sovereign Power
Hath wrought, O Christ, this hour
Is but an emblem of the things to be.

Now to the Father, Son,
And Spirit, ever One,
Be power ascribed by all things that have breath
In Thee, O Christ, we trust:
When we return to dust,
Save us, we pray Thee, from the second Death.