Blest morning, whose young dawning rays
Beheld our rising God,
That saw Him triumph o’er the dust,
And leave His dark abode!

In the cold prison of a tomb
The dead Redeemer lay,
Till the revolving skies had brought
The third, th’appointed day.

Hell and the grave unite their force
To hold our God in vain;
The sleeping Conqueror arose,
And burst their feeble chain.

To Thy great Name, almighty Lord,
These sacred hours we pay;
And loud hosannas shall proclaim
The triumph of the day.

Salvation and immortal praise
To our victorious King;
Let Heav’n, and earth, and rocks, and seas,
With glad hosannas ring.

Let us rise in early morning,
And, instead of ointments, bring
Hymns of praises to our Master,
And His Resurrection sing:
We shall see the Sun of Justice
Ris’n with healing on His wing,
Ris’n with healing on His wing.

Thy unbounded loving-kindness,
They that groaned in Hades’ chain,
Prisoners, from afar beholding,
Hasten to the light again
And to that eternal Pascha
Wove the dance and raised the strain,
Wove the dance and raised the strain.

Go ye forth, His saints, to meet Him!
Go with lamps in every hand!
From the sepulcher He riseth:
Ready for the Bridegroom stand:
And the Pascha of salvation
Hail, with His triumphant band,
Hail, with His triumphant band.