In the twi­light gray, of the bless­èd day
When death was cap­tive led;
From the drea­ry tomb, and its chill­ing gloom,
A voice came from the dead:
Life and im­mor­ta­li­ty
Are brought to light, for Christ is ris­en;
And from His pri­son house of clay,
There streams the light of end­less day.

Mary weep­ing came, whis­per­ing Je­sus’ name,
With doubts and fears dis­mayed.
Tears of sor­row rolled, and her ang­uish told,
But an­gels quick­ly said:
Haste and tell to those He loved,
And loved so well, that Christ is ris­en!
From that cold bed where once He lay,
There streams the light of end­less day.

From the roc­ky bed of the slum­ber­ing dead
Each ran­somed form shall rise,
And the trum­pet’s call shall awak­en all,
When from the part­ing skies,
Christ in might will sure­ly come,
With an­gels bright, for He is ris­en,
And for His own be­loved will come,
And bear them to their rest and home.