Welcome, morning of joy, glad feast that all ages shall hallow,
Day wherein, vanquishing hell, God cometh forth from the grave.

Lo, the fresh beauty of spring, reborn from the womb of the winter,
Tells how, to greet his return, nature itself is renewed.

He who was nailed to the Cross is reigning as God over all things,
While the Creator of all all things created adore.

Now, Lord of mercy and might, of thy promise vouchsafe the fulfilment
Rise, buried Love, from the tomb; hasten, the third day is here.

Shame would it be that thy limbs with earth's sorry mould should be covered,
Or that the base rock should immure him who hath ransomed the world.

Shame that in durance should lie, close girt in the tomb's rocky fastness,
He who sustains the whole world, held in the grasp of his hand.

Fling off the clothes of the grave, leave them there in the sepulchre lying;
For thou art all that we need, and without thee we have naught.

Meekly thou stoop'st to the grave, who art Author of life and creation,
Treadest the pathway of death, winning salvation for men.

Give back thy face to the world, with its sunshine to gladden the ages;
Give back the light of the day, fled from our eyes at thy Death.

Out of the prison of death thou art rescuing souls without number;
Freely they press to the goal whither their Maker leads on.

Hell's gloomy castle is stormed, unloosed are the chains of its captives;
Chaos and Death flee away, cowed at the face of the Light.


Venantius Fortunatus
tr. C. S. Phillips