It was ear­ly in the morn­ing,
On the first bright Sun­day morn­ing,
That the dear Lord Je­sus rose
From the grave in which He lay.
And there in the morn­ing quiet,
With the holy an­gels by it,
Sitting, watch­ing for the Ma­rys to
Appear along the way.

Oh, the Mar­ys came in sad­ness,
But the an­gels brought them glad­ness,
When they said, The Lord is ris’n,
He will nev­er die again.
And then soon He came to meet them,
With His lov­ing words to greet them;
Oh, that Sun­day saw the end­ing of
Their sor­row and their pain!

Now the an­gels who sit keep­ing
Holy watch while we lie sleep­ing,
Are so glad to see us wake
When the East­er morn is here;
For they know their Lord re­joic­es
As He list­ens to our voices:
For the prais­es of His child­ren sweet
To Him are al­ways dear.

So now let us take our plac­es,
Shining glad­ness on our faces,
As we heart and voice pre­pare
Happy East­er hymns to share;
And we know a glor­ious some day,
On that best and brigh­est Sund­ay,
All His child­ren will arise in clouds
And meet their glor­ious king!