Hail, risen Lord, upon whose brow
The crown of victory resteth now,
Unfading as the sun!
Hail, vanquisher of every foe,
Of Sin, dread source of all our woe,
And Death—the last undone!
Hail, risen Lord,—the empty grave
Proclaims aloud thy power to save,—
Thy high, victorious might!
Hail, Lord of life, and peace, and love,
On thy exalted throne above,
In uncreated light!
Hail, risen Lord,—we bend the knee,
And lift the adoring eye to thee,
And yield thee worship meet!—
And, while the angelic hosts on high
Shout their hosannas through the sky,
We breathe them at thy feet
For here, 'mid darkness, sin, and death,
Our loudest praise is but a breath,—
An infant's feeble sigh!
Yet, haply, to thy gracious ear
Our weak hosannas are as dear,
As those that swell on high!
Hail, risen Lord,—exalted King,
Well may the highest heavens ring
With rapture's sweetest lays!
Be ours to add our feeble sigh
To the full chorus of the sky,
In reverential praise!