All is o'er, the pain, the sorrow

All is o'er, the pain, the sorrow,
Human taunts and fiendish spite
Death shall be despoiled tomorrow
Of the prey he grasps tonight
Yet awhile, His own to save,
Christ must linger in the grave.

Dark and still the cell that holds Him,
While in brief repose He lies
Deep the slumber that enfolds Him,
Veiled awhile from mortal eyes
Slumber such as needs must be
After hard won victory.

Fierce and deadly was the anguish
Which on yonder cross He bore
How did soul and body languish
Till the toil of death was o'er:
But that toil, so fierce and dread,
Bruised and crushed the serpent's head.

All night long, with plaintive voicing,
Chant His requiem soft and low:
Loftier strains of loud rejoicing
From tomorrow's harps shall flow:
"Death and hell at length are slain!
Christ hath triumphed! Christ doth reign!"