tr., John Brownlie
The stone is rolled away,
The Christ hath left the tomb;
Come, see the place where once He lay,
Amid its awful gloom;
And bring no spices for the dead,
For He is risen, even as He said.
Awake! the morn is here;
Awake! the night is o'er;
And lo! the shadows disappear,
To visit earth no more;
The sun that wakes our glorious day
Shall shine upon the world for aye.
Hence now the Cross and woe;
Hence now the cruel spite;
The weary wanderings here below,
The death, the grave, the night;
The power of sin is thrust aside,
The gates of life are opened wide.
Now sin and death are slain;
The grave and hades groan;
For He Who died now lives again,
The triumph is His own;
No thorns afflict His aching brow,
He wears the Victor's garland now.
Hail! risen Christ, our God,
The world rejoicing sings;
Proclaim the tidings far abroad,
That Christ is King of kings;
A King by right of conquest, He
Sits on His throne of majesty.