1 O resurrection morn,
The weary world is shorn
Today of all its gloom!
For truth has rolled away
The stone from fear’s array,
And empty is the tomb.

2 Now is death’s problem solved,
The day of days evolved
Out of its fleshly guise;
The Son of Righteousness
Hath rent His earthly dress,
That Christ must thus arise.

3 No longer can the walls
That dreamily enthrall
Man’s glory, hide from sight;
For One with God-like mien
(Back of the prism seen)
Hath pierced them thro’ with light.

4 Yet through the shadowy deep,
Up Calvary’s rocky steep
His soul hath surely trod;
For dead and buried He
From sense of self must be
Who knows His Father—God.

5 O day of days complete,
Odorous with victories sweeet,
And crowned with tender grace!
The diadem of thorns
Majestically adorns
The well-run, patient race.

6 O Christ, the perfect Whole,
Thou resurrected soul,
The glorious conquest done!
Thou Truth, and Life, and Way
To immortality
With God, th’eternal One!