O death where is thy sting?
Where, grave, thy vic­to­ry?
O keys of hell, why change
Ye hands at Cal­va­ry?
Lo, on that hill
God’s wrath was placed,
Our sins erased,
And death made nil.

O sin­ner, set thy faith
On Him who bore thy curse;
The ve­nom of that sting
Abideth on the earth.
But Christ arose
To be our way,
And sole es­cape,
From sin’s grim woe.

O saint, turn not be­hind—
Reach forth to things ahead;
Thy faith has made thee whole
And raised thee from the dead,
To be as one
With what awaits
Past Hea­ven’s gate
When ends have come.

O Lord, for Thee we watch,
Unto that bless­èd day,
When what­e’er form we take
Shall see Thee face to face;
For Thy great pow’r
Will re­sur­rect
All Thine elect;
O won­drous hour!