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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.

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