1 On Easter morn, when holy chimes are ringing,
God’s breath of peace on all the scene around,
I seem to hear descending angels singing,
Till they have made the earth all hallowed ground.

Refrain:
Rest, pilgrims rest.
No more your hearts are aching,
No more ye burdens bear or sorrows weep;
Rest, pilgrims, rest till life’s glad morn be breaking,
’Tis God who giveth His beloved sleep.

2 Assuaged our grief, we tread the path before us,
Fulfill the days of our appointed time;
While each year brings again the Easter chorus,
And we look for that last great change sublime. [Refrain]

3 Ye angels, bear love’s cup of consolation,
Fly with the Easter sun round the glad earth;
Proclaim that death in Christ is but translation,
That at His voice we rise to higher birth. [Refrain]

4 Say that with Him shall come the dear departed;
Clothed in new beauty, they from dust shall rise;
Sing of that land where are no broken hearted,
Where God’s own hand wipes tears from weeping eyes. [Refrain]