God is gone up with a merry noise
Of saints that sing on high:
With his own right hand and his holy arm
He hath won the victory.

Now empty are the courts of death,
And crushed thy sting, despair:
And roses bloom in the desert tomb,
For Jesus hath been there.

And he hath tamed the strength of hell,
And dragged him through the sky,
And captive behind his chariot wheel,
He hath bound captivity.

God is gone up with a merry noise
Of saints that sing on high;
With his own right hand and his holy arm
He hath won the victory.