1. Come, ye faithful, raise the strain Of triumphant gladness; God hath brought 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 brought His Israel Into joy from sadness. |
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