Wake not, O Mother, sounds of lamentation;
Weep not, O widow, weep not hopelessly:
Strong is his arm, the bringer of salvation,
Strong is the word of God to succor thee.

Bear forth the cold corpse slowly, slowly bear him:
Hide his pale features with the sable pall:
Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him:
Widowed and childless, she has lost her all.

Why pause the mourners? Who forbids our weeping?
Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed?
'Set down the bier - he is not dead, but sleeping.
'Young man, arise!' -He spake, and was obeyed.

Change, then, O sad one, grief to exultation,
Worship and fall before Messiah's knee.
Strong was his arm, the bringer of salvation,
Strong was the word of God to succor thee.