The strife is o'er, the battle done

The strife is o’er, the battle done;

Now is the Victor’s triumph won;

Now be the song of praise begun, -

            Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

The powers of death have done their worst,

But Christ their legions hath dispersed;

Let shouts of holy joy outburst, -

The three sad days have quickly sped;

He rises glorious from the dead;

All glory to our risen Head!

He brake the age-bound chains 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:

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