"Fear not!" said the white-robed angel
Who rolled the stone away; "Fear not, for your Lord is risen;
Come see where Jesus lay." Oh! joy for the blessed assurance!
No sealed, or guarded grave, Could bind in its rocky shroudings
The Christ who came to save.

Adown through the circling ages,
As threads of living gold, The tidings of that hallowed morn
Have spanned life's dreary world. Have touched, convinced, subdued the soul;
Till reason's twilight ray, Till vice, and dolesome ignorance
Give place to perfect day.

That voice which awed the angry wave
On deep, blue Galilee, Yet calms, and rules with mild control,
From nigh to further sea. Yet wakes to life the desert land,
Breaks superstition's hold; And, wanderers on the myriad paths,
Doth compass in one fold.

Ye seraphs! strike your golden harps,
Tuned with devotion high; With echoing pÆans sweetly thrill
The arches of the sky. Whilst we, in noblest measures
Which earthly voices sing, Yield homage to our risen Lord
Our glorious Saviour—King.