AT the Lamb's high feast we sing Praise to our victorious King, Who hath wash'd us in the tide Flowing from His pierced side. Where the Paschal blood is pour'd, Death's dark angel sheathes his sword; Israel's host triumphant go Through the wave that drowns the foe. Praise we Christ, whose blood was shed, Mighty Victim from the sky, 70. Thou hast conquer'd in the fight, Now no more can death appal, Easter triumph, Easter joy, men., |