1. Come, ye faithful, raise the strain
Of triumphant gladness;
God hath bro't His Israel
Into joy from sadness.
'Tis the spring of souls today:
Christ hath burst His prison
And from three days' sleep in death
As a sun hath risen.

2. All the winter of our sins,
Long and dark, is flying
From His light, to whom we give
Laud and praise undying.
Neither could the gates of death
Nor the tomb's dark portal
Nor the watchers, nor the seal
Hold Thee as a mortal.

3. But today amidst Thine own
Thou didst stand, bestowing
That Thy peace which evermore
Passeth human knowing.
Come, ye faithful, raise the strain
Of triumphant gladness;
God hath bro't His Israel
Into joy from sadness.

Amen.