141 Woodstock. C.M.
(309) Christ's Triumph over Death.
The morning purples all the sky,
The air with praises rings;
Defeated hell stands sullen by,
The world exulting sings.
2 While he, the King all strong to save,
Rends the dark doors away,
And through the breaches of the grave
Strides forth into the day.
3 Death's captive, in his gloomy prison
Past fettered he has lain;
But he has mastered death, is risen,
And death wears now the chain.
4 The shining angels cry, "Away
With grief; no spices bring;
Not tears, but songs, this joyful day,
Should greet the rising King!"
Dr. A. R. Thompson, 1867.
142 Warwick. C.M.
(311) Resurrection and Ascension.
Hosanna to the Prince of Light,
Who clothed himself in clay,
Entered the iron gates of death,
And tore the bars away.
2 Death is no more the king of dread,
Since our Immanuel rose;
He took the tyrant's sting away,
And spoiled our hellish foes.
3 See how the conqueror mounts aloft
And to his Father flies,
With scars of honor in his flesh,
And triumph in his eyes.
4 There our exalted Savior reigns,
And scatters blessings down;
Our Jesus fills the middle seat
Of the celestial throne.
Isaac Watts, 1709.
143 Nuremburg. 7s.
(322) The Lord is Risen.
Christ, the Lord, is risen to-day,
Sons of men and angels say:
Raise your joys and triumphs high;
Sing, ye heavens; thou earth, reply.
2 Love's redeeming work is done;
Fought the fight; the battle won:
Lo! our Sun's eclipse is o'er;
Lo! he sets in blood no more.
3 Vain the stone, the watch, the seal--
Christ hath burst the gates of hell;
Death in vain forbids his rise--
Christ hath opened paradise.
4 Lives again our glorious King:
Where, O death, is now thy sting?
Once he died our souls to save:
Where's thy victory, boasting grave?
Charles Wesley, 1739.
144 Pleyel's Hymn. 7s.
(325) Resurrection and Ascension.
Angel! roll the rock away;
Death! yield up thy mighty prey;
See! he rises from the tomb,
Glowing with immortal bloom.
2 'Tis the Savior; angels! raise
Fame's eternal trump of praise:
Let the world's remotest bound
Hear the joy-inspiring sound.
3 Shout! ye saints! in rapturous song,
Let the strains be sweet and strong;
Shout the Son of God, this morn
From his sepulcher new-born.
4 Heaven displays her portals wide;
Glorious Hero! through them ride!
King of glory! mount the throne--
Thy great Father's and thine own.
Thomas Scott, 1772.
145 Hudson. S.M.
(313) The Lord is Risen.
'"The Lord is risen indeed!"
The grave hath lost its prey;
With him shall rise the ransomed seed
To reign in endless day.
2 "The Lord is risen indeed!"
He lives to die no more;
He lives his people's cause to plead,
Whose curse and shame he bore.
3 "The Lord is risen indeed!"
Attending angels hear;
Up to the courts of heaven with speed,
The joyful tidings bear.
4 Then take your golden lyres,
And strike each cheerful chord;
Join all the bright celestial choirs,
To sing our risen Lord.
Thomas Kelly, 1804.
146 Mendon. L.M.
(318) Exaltation of Christ.
Now for a tune of lofty praise
To great Jehovah's equal Son;
Awake, my voice, in heavenly lays,
And tell the wonders he hath done.
2 Sing how he left the worlds of light,
And those bright robes he wore above;
How swift and joyful was his flight,
On wings of everlasting love.
3 Among a thousand harps and songs,
Jesus, the God, exalted reigns;
His sacred name fills all their tongues
And echoes through the heavenly plains.
Isaac Watts, 1707.
147 Mendon. L.M.
(319) The Lord is Risen Indeed.
The morning kindles all the sky;
The heavens resound with anthems high;
The shining angels, as they speed,
Proclaim, "The Lord is risen indeed."
2 Vainly with rocks his tomb was barred
While Roman guards kept watch and ward;
Majestic from the spoiled tomb,
In pomp of triumph he has come!
3 When the amazed disciples heard,
Their hearts with speechless joy were stirred;
Their Lord's beloved face to see,
Eager they haste to Galilee.
4 His pierced hands to them he shows;
His face with love's own radiance glows;
They with the angel's message speed,
And shout, "The Lord is risen indeed!"
Latin Tr. by Mrs. E. Charles.
148 Harmony Grove. L.M.
(320) Christ the Unsetting Sun.
Hail! morning known among the blest,
Morning of hope, and joy, and love,
Of heavenly peace, and holy rest,
Pledge of the endless rest above.
2 Blest be the Father of our Lord,
Who from the dead hath brought his Son;
Hope to the lost was then restored,
And everlasting glory won.
3 Mercy looked down with smiling eye
When our Immanuel left the dead;
Faith marked his bright ascent on high,
And hope with gladness raised her head.
E. Wardlaw, 1814.
149 Baltzell. L.M.
My Redeemer Lives.
I know that my Redeemer lives!
What comfort this sweet sentence gives;
He lives, he lives, who once was dead;
He lives, my ever-living Head.
2 He lives, to bless me with his love;
He lives, to plead for me above;
He lives, my hungry soul to feed;
He lives, to bless in time of need;
3 He lives, to grant me rich supply;
He lives, to guide me with his eye;
He lives, to comfort me when faint;
He lives, to hear my soul's complaint;
4 He lives, my kind, wise, heav'nly Friend;
He lives, and loves me to the end;
He lives, and while he lives I'll sing;
He lives, my Prophet, Priest, and King.
5 He lives, all glory to his name!
He lives, my Savior still the same--
Oh, the sweet joy this sentence gives:
I know that my Redeemer lives.
Samuel Medley, 1789.
150 Dort. 6s & 4s.
(329) Glorious Conqueror.
Rise, glorious Conqueror, rise,
Into thy native skies,
Assume thy right;
And where, in many a fold,
The clouds are backward rolled;
Pass thro' these gates of gold,
And reign in light.
2 Victor o'er death and hell,
Cherubic legions swell
The radiant strain;
Praises all heav'n inspire;
Each angel sweeps his lyre,
And claps his wings of fire;
Thou Lamb, once slain.
3 Enter, incarnate God!
No feet but thine have trod
The serpent down;
Blow the full trumpets, blow!
Wider your portals throw!
Savior, triumphant, go
And take thy crown.
4 Lion of Judah, hail!
And let thy name prevail
From age to age;
Lord of the rolling years,
Claim for thine own the spheres,
For thou hast bought with tears
Thine heritage.
Matthew Bridges, 1848.
151 Harwell. 8s & 7s. D.
(354) Jesus Reigns.
Hark! ten thousand harps and voices
Sound the note of praise above;
Jesus reigns, and heaven rejoices;
Jesus reigns, the God of love;
See, he sits on yonder throne;
Jesus rules the world alone.
2 King of glory! reign forever--
Thine an everlasting crown;
Nothing, from thy love, shall sever
Those whom thou hast made thine own;
Happy objects of thy grace,
Destined to behold thy face.
3 Savior! hasten thine appearing;
Bring, oh, bring the glorious day
When, the awful summons hearing,
Heaven and earth shall pass away;--
Then, with golden harps, we'll sing,--
"Glory to our King!"
Thomas Kelly, 1806.
152 Harwell. 8s & 7s. D.
(353) The Return to Heaven.
Jesus comes, his conflict over,--
Comes to claim his great reward;
Angels round the Victor hover,
Crowding to behold their Lord;
Haste, ye saints! your tribute bring,
Crown him, everlasting King.
2 Yonder throne for him erected,
Now becomes the Victor's seat;
Lo, the man on earth rejected!
Angels worship at his feet:
Haste, ye saints! your tribute bring,
Crown him, everlasting King.
3 Day and night they cry before him,--
"Holy, holy, holy, Lord!"
All the powers of heaven adore him,
All obey his sovereign word;
Haste, ye saints! your tribute bring,
Crown him, everlasting King.
Thomas Kelly, 1804.
153 Harwell. 8s & 7s. D.
(333) We Live in Him.
See, the Conqueror mounts in triumph,
See the King in royal state,
Riding on the clouds, his chariot,
To his heavenly palace gate!
Hark! the choirs of angel voices
Joyful hallelujahs sing,
And the portals high are lifted
To receive their heavenly King.
2 Who is this that comes in glory,
With the trump of jubilee?
Lord of battles, God of armies,
He has gained the victory;
He, who on the cross did suffer,
He, who from the grave arose,
He has vanquished sin and Satan,
He by death has spoiled his foes.
3 Thou hast raised our human nature,
On the clouds to God's right hand;
There we sit in heavenly places,
There with thee in glory stand;
Jesus reigns, adored by angels;
Man with God is on the throne;
Mighty Lord! in thine ascension,
We by faith behold our own.
Christopher Wordsworth, 1862.
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