Earth, with all its dark and dreadful ills,
Recedes and fades away;
Lift up your heads, ye heavenly hills,
Ye gates of death, give way!
My soul is full of whispered song;
My blindness is my sight;
The shadows that I feared so long
Are all alive with light.
The while my pulses faintly beat,
My faith doth so abound;
I feel grow firm beneath my feet
The green immortal ground.
That faith to me a courage gives,
Low as the grave to go;
I know that my Redeemer lives—
That I shall live, I know.
The palace walls I almost see
Where dwells my Lord and king;
O grave! where is thy victory?
O death! where is thy sting?