With harp, and with trumpet, and all that is glorious
Now sound we His triumph, the King who shall reign,
The Lord who is risen, exalted, victorious,
The Savior whom death hath no power to enchain.
With harp, and with trumpet, and all that is glorious,
Now sound we His triumph, the King who shall reign!
Fear not!—’mid the joy-bells of Eastertide calling
He speaketh anew, giving rest to the heart;
Still, still, like the dew upon lily flowers falling,
His comfort, His strength, doth the Master impart.
O bells of the springtide, O chimings of glory,
On Easter Day ring over hillside and plain;
Tell, tell once again of the wonderful story,
The Savior is risen, let all swell the strain.