On Easter Morn

On East­er morn

when ho­ly chimes are ring­ing

God’s breath of peace on all the scene around

I seem to hear des­cend­ing an­gels sing­ing

Till they have made the earth all hal­lowed ground.

Rest

pil­grims rest

no more your hearts are ach­ing

No more ye bur­dens bear

or sor­rows weep;

Rest

pil­grims

rest

till life’s glad morn be break­ing

’Tis God

who giv­eth His be­lovèd sleep.

Assuaged our grief

we tread the path be­fore us

Fulfill the days of our ap­point­ed time;

While each year brings again the East­er chor­us

And we look for that last great change sub­lime.

Ye an­gels

bear love’s cup of con­so­la­tion

Fly with the East­er sun round the glad earth;

Proclaim that death in Christ is but trans­la­tion

That at His voice we rise to high­er birth.

Say that with Him

shall come the dear de­part­ed

Clothed in new beau­ty

they from dust shall rise;

Sing of that land where are no brok­en heart­ed

Where God’s own hand

Wipes tears from weep­ing eyes.