Morning Spreads Her Crimson Rays

Morning spreads her crim­son rays

Heav’n re­sounds with hymns of praise

Through the earth loud an­thems swell

Heard with rage in van­quished hell.

From the dark se­pul­chral gloom

See the King of Glo­ry come:

See Him now from bond­age freed

All His saints to day­light lead.

Vain the tomb se­curely barred

Sealèd stone

and arm­èd guard:

Death is crushed

and finds his bier

In the Con­quer­or’s se­pul­cher.

Hence with mourn­ing

hence with tears

Hence with anx­ious griefs and fears;

Death’s sub­du­er is not here

Cries His an­gel min­is­ter.

That these thoughts of pas­chal joy

Ever may our minds em­ploy

Dead to sin

Thy serv­ants give

Lord

in ho­li­ness to live.

Now be God the Fa­ther praised

With the Son in tri­umph raised

From the grave

His glo­ry’s heir

And the bless­èd Com­fort­er.