Come, Ye Faithful, Raise the Strain

Come

ye faith­ful

raise the strain

Of tri­umph­ant glad­ness;

God hath brought forth Is­ra­el

Into joy from sad­ness;

Loosed from Pha­raoh’s bit­ter yoke

Jacob’s sons and daugh­ters

Led them with un­moist­ened foot

Through the Red Sea wa­ters.

’Tis the spring of souls to­day;

Christ has burst His pri­son

And from three days’ sleep in death

As a sun hath ris­en;

All the win­ter of our sins

Long and dark

is fly­ing

From His light

to whom we give

Laud and praise un­dy­ing.

Now the queen of sea­sons

bright

With the day of sple­ndor

With the roy­al feast of feasts

Comes its joy to ren­der;

Comes to glad Je­ru­sa­lem

Who with true af­fect­ion

Welcomes in un­wear­ied strains

Jesus’ re­sur­rect­ion.

Neither might the gates of death

Nor the tomb’s dark por­tal

Nor the watch­ers

nor the seal

Hold Thee as a mor­tal;

But today amidst the twelve

Thou didst stand

be­stow­ing

That Thy peace which ev­er­more

Passeth hu­man know­ing.

Al­le­lu­ia! now we cry

To our king im­mor­tal

Who

tri­umph­ant

burst the bars

Of the tomb’s dark por­tal;

Al­le­lu­ia! with the Son

God the Fa­ther prais­ing

Al­le­lu­ia! yet again

To the Spir­it rais­ing.