One great and final Sabbath day,
The Sun of our salvation,
In death and darkness hid his ray,
And in his broken temple lay.
Before the holy night was fled,
He raised his body from the dead,
To rule the new creation
Of our sanctification.

Close-hidden in the sealèd tomb,
He wrought his peaceful wonder,
And broke the locks and bars of doom,
As gently as the garden-gloom, a
But Michael, mailed in blinding light,
Came flashing from the heav'nly height,
And rolled the stone asunder,
And shook the world with thunder

The feet that trod the winepress lone,
Go shod with wine-red roses.
The mighty hands hold fast their own,
Deep writ in living ruby stone,
And from the heart for evermore,
His sacred side, like heavèn's door
To contrite men, uncloses
And wine of life disposes.

O God, whose Son has made away
With death's dominion hoary,
Unlock to them, that grope and stray,
Wide avenues of endless day,
Enrich, with fruit of all desire,
The longing which thou dost inspire,
That we, who guard his story,
May gaze upon his glory.