141 | Woodstock. C.M.
(309) Christ’s Triumph over Death.
The morning purples all the sky,
The air with praises rings;
Defeated hell stands sullen by,
The world exulting sings.
2 While he, the King all strong to save,
Rends the dark doors away,
And through the breaches of the grave
Strides forth into the day.
3 Death’s captive, in his gloomy prison
Past fettered he has lain;
But he has mastered death, is risen,
And death wears now the chain.
4 The shining angels cry, “Away
With grief; no spices bring;
Not tears, but songs, this joyful day,
Should greet the rising King!”
Dr. A. R. Thompson, 1867.