He wrestled Night—He bound the Chains—
The Tempter fell—His Fury waned—
A Word—He spoke—it burst the Grave—
Our Hates dissolved—our Souls were saved—
The Cross—His Sword—the Flesh—His Shield—
No mortal hands—could match the Field—
The Fiend grew Small—beneath His Gaze—
A Lion stilled—to Lamb’s dismay—
Our Bonds—once thick—the Knot undone—
Our Griefs slipped free—like Morning Sun—
The “Strife is O’er”—the Angels sing—
As captive Death—felt Heaven sting—
Today we rise—our prison slain—
By Love, the Veil—is rent in Twain—
And Christ—our King, has bridged the Deep—
While fearful Hells—in silence weep—