Thine be the glory, risen, conqu'ring Son; endless is the vict'ry thou o'er death hast won!
Thine be the glory, risen, conqu'ring Son; endless is the vict'ry thou o'er death hast won. Angels in bright raiment rolled the stone away, kept the folded grave-clothes where thy body lay.
Lo! Jesus meets us, risen from the tomb. Lovingly he greets us, scatters fear and gloom; let his church with gladness hymns of triumph sing, for her Lord now liveth; death hath lost its sting.
No more we doubt thee, glorious Prince of life! Life is naught without thee; aid us in our strife; make us more than conqu'rors, through thy deathless love; bring us safe through Jordan to thy home above.