The Morn Had Spread Her Crimson Rays
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| (Crimson Cliffs by Paul Taylor - found here) |
When rang the skies with shouts of praise;
Earth joined the joyful hymn to swell,
That brought despair to vanquished hell.
He comes victorious from the grave,
The Lord omnipotent to save,
And brings with him to light of day
The saints who long imprisoned lay.
Vain is the cavern’s three-fold ward —
The stone, the seal, the armed guard;
O death, no more thine arm we fear,
The Victor’s tomb is now thy bier.
Let hymns of joy to grief succeed,
We know that Christ is risen indeed;
We hear his white-robed angel’s voice,
And in our risen Lord rejoice.
With Christ we died, with Christ we rose,
When at the font his name we chose;
Oh, let not sin our robes defile,
And turn to grief the paschal smile.
To God the Father let us sing,
To God the Son, our risen King,
And equally let us adore
The Spirit, God forevermore.
Amen.
~Words: Ambrosian, 4th or 5th cent.;
Translation by Robert Campbell
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