Light’s Glittering Morn Bedecks the Sky

Light’s glit­ter­ing morn be­decks the sky;

Heav’n thun­ders forth its vic­tor cry;

The glad earth shouts her tri­umph high

And groan­ing hell makes wild re­ply.

While He

the King

the migh­ty King

Despoiling death of all its sting

And

tramp­ling down the pow­ers of night

Brings forth His ran­somed saints to light.

His tomb of late the three­fold guard

Of watch and stone and seal had barred;

But now

in pomp and tri­umph high

He comes from death to vic­to­ry.

The pains of hell are loosed at last;

The days of mourn­ing now are past;

An an­gel robed in light hath said

The Lord is ris­en from the dead.

Th’Apostles’ hearts were full of pain

For their dear Lord so late­ly slain

By re­bel serv­ants doomed to die

A death of cru­el ago­ny.

With gen­tle voice the an­gel gave

The wo­men tid­ings at the grave;

Fear not

your mas­ter shall ye see;

He goes be­fore to Ga­li­lee.

Then

hast­en­ing on their ea­ger way

The joy­ful tid­ings to con­vey

Their Lord they met

their liv­ing Lord

And fall­ing at His feet ad­ored.

Th’Eleven

when they hear

with speed

To Ga­li­lee forth­with pro­ceed

That there once more they may be­hold

The Lord’s dear face

as He fore­told.