All Is O’er, the Pain, the Sorrow

All is o’er

the pain

the sor­row

Human taunts and fiend­ish spite;

Death shall be de­spoiled to­mor­row

Of the prey he grasps to­night;

Yet awhile

His own to save

Christ must lin­ger in the grave.

Dark and still the cell that holds Him

While in brief re­pose He lies;

Deep the slum­ber that en­folds Him

Veiled awhile from mor­tal eyes;

Slumber such as needs must be

After hard won vic­to­ry.

Fierce and dead­ly was the ang­uish

Which on yon­der cross He bore;

How did soul and body lang­uish

Till the toil of death was o’er:

But that toil

so fierce and dread

Bruised and crushed the ser­pent’s head.

All night long

with plaint­ive voic­ing

Chant His re­qui­em soft and low:

Loftier strains of loud re­joic­ing

From to­mor­row’s harps shall flow:

Death and hell at length are slain!

Christ hath tri­umphed!

Christ doth reign!