1 All is o'er, the pain, the sorrow,
Human taunts and Satan's spite;
Death shall be despoiled to-morrow
Of the Prey he grasps to-night.
Yet once more, His own to save,
Christ must sleep within the grave.
2 Fierce and deadly was the anguish
On the bitter 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.
3 Close and still the tomb 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.
4 So this nght, with voice of sadness
Chant the anthem soft and low;
Loftier strains of praise and gladness
From to-morrow's harps shall flow:
"Death and hell at length are slain,
Christ hath triumphed, Christ doth reign."
Text Information | |
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First Line: | All is o'er, the pain, the sorrow |
Meter: | 8s. 7s., six lines. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1871 |
Notes: | Public Domain. |