The strife is o'er, the battle done,
The victory of life is won;
The song of triumph has begun.
The powers of death have done their worst,
But Christ their legions hath dispersed:
Let shout of holy joy outburst.
The three sad days are quickly sped;
He rises glorious from the dead:
All glory to our risen Head!
He closed the yawning gates of hell,
The bars from heaven's high portals fell;
Let hymns of praise his triumphs tell!
Lord! by the stripes which wounded thee,
From death's dread sting thy servants free,
That we may live and sing to thee.
|First Line:||The strife is o'er, the battle done|
|Title:||The strife is o'er, the battle done|
|Translator:||Francis Pott (1861, alt.)|
|Composer:||Giovanni P. da Palestrina|
|Arranged:||William Henry Monk (1861)|
|Incipit:||55565 54353 33333|