42
TH
And sing through endless days The great things He hath done. Look up ye saints of God, Nor fear to tread below The path our Saviour trod, Of daily toil and woe; Wait but a little while In uncomplaining love, His own most gracious smile Shall welcome you above.
ALLELUIA! ALLELUIA! ALLELUIA! HE strife is o'er, the battle done;
Amen.
The triumph of the Lord is won; O let the song of praise be sung,
Alleluia!
On that third morn He rose again In glorious majesty to reign; O let us swell the joyful strain, Alleluia!
39
The powers of death have done their worst, And Jesus hath His foes dispersed; Let shouts of praise and joy outburst, Alleluia!
He closed the yawning gates of hell; The bars from heaven's high portals fell; Let songs of joy His triumphs tell,
Alleluia!
Lord, by the stripes which wounded Thee, From death's dread sting Thy servants free, That we may live, and sing to Thee,
Alleluia!
Amen.


