Hosanna to the Prince of light,

That clothed himself in the clay,

Entered the iron gates of death,

And tore the bars away.

2 Death is no more the king of dread,

Since our Immanuel rose;

He took the tyrant’s sting away,

And spoiled our hellish foes.

3 Raise your devotion, mortal tongues,

To reach his blest abode;

Sweet be the accents of your songs

To our incarnate God.

4 Bright angels, strike your loudest strings,

Your sweetest voices raise,

Let heaven and all created things,

Sound our Immanuel’s praise.