Blow, golden trumpets, sweet and clear,
Blow soft upon the perfumed air;
Bid the sad earth to join your song,
To Christ does victory belong.
O let the winds your message bear
To every heart of grief and care;
Sound thro’ the world the joyful lay,
Our Christ has conquered death today.
On cloudy wings let glad words fly
Thro’ the soft blue of echoing sky;
Ring out, O trumpets, sweet and clear,
Thro’ death immortal life is here.