Though Death now seem triumphant, as he waves
His dreadful banner o'er a world of graves,
And feasts, with ghoulish glee, on broken hearts,
Bleeding and torn by his vindictive darts,
He shall not always reign: of power shorn,
The victor's chaplet from his black brow torn,
Himself shall die: for he who wields his power
Hath not of immortality the dower.
O! Earth, rejoice!
Away with grief and tears;
Cast off your groundless fears;
Lift up your voice,
Your Great Deliverer greet!
The Son of God shall come,
Beneath His conquering feet
Death meet his doom,
The Devil be destroyed
And Hell made void!
Captivity shall captive be,
And Heaven and Earth hold jubilee!