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tr., John Brownlie



Now let the gates be lifted up,

That Christ may enter in,

Who drank for man the bitter cup,

And crushed the power of sin;

He enters, lo! a Victor brave,

Triumphant from the yawning grave.


Did death and hell their power unite

To hold their prize? in vain;

For morn awoke upon the night,

And death and hell were slain;

All hail the Victor from the grave,

Who rose from death our souls to save.


Now let the Christ His right assume,—

The throne of high renown;

No more do thorns His temples fret,

He wears a regal crown;—

Up, myriad hosts, your praises bring,

And laud the All-victorious King.


To God the Father, God the Son,

And God the Spirit blest,

Be glory while the ages run,

By angel hosts exprest;

And souls from death's dark bondage won,

By Christ, the All-victorious Son.

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