The strife is o'er, the battle done;
Now is the victor's triumph won;
O, let the song of praise be sung!
Death's mightiest powers have done their worst,
And Jesus Christ them all dispersed.
Let shouts of praise and joy outburst.
On the third morn he rose again,
Glorious in majesty to reign;
O let us swell the joyful strain:
He closed the yawning gates of hell;
the bars from heaven's high portals fell.
Let hymns of praise his triumph tell.
Lord, by the stripes which wounded thee,
from death's dread sting thy servants free,
that we may live and sing to thee.