Death could not hold him; The grave is a prison That keeps not the living; The Christ has arisen! HYMN III. THE LORD JESUS. Why are ye troubled? Why weep ye and grieve? What the prophets have written Why slowly believe? ’Tis I, be not doubtful! Why ponder ye so? Behold in my body The marks of my woe! The willing hath suffered; The chosen been slain; The end is accomplished! Behold me again! Death has been conquered-- The grave has been riven-- For sin a remission Hath freely been given! Fearless in spirit, Yet meek as the dove, Go preach to the nations This gospel of love. For the might of the mighty Shall o’er you be cast; And I will be with you, My friends, to the last. I go to the Father, But I will prepare Your mansions of glory, And welcome you there. There life never-ending; There bliss that endures; There love never changing, My friends, shall be yours! But the hour is accomplished! My children, we sever-- But be ye not troubled, I am with you forever! HYMN IV. THE ELEVEN. The Lord is ascending!-- Rich welcomes to give him: See, angels descending!-- The heavens receive him! See, angels, archangels Bend down to adore!-- The Lord hath ascended, We see him no more! The Master is taken; The friend hath departed; Yet we are not forsaken, Nor desolate-hearted! The Master is taken; The holy, the kind; But the joy of his presence, Remaineth behind! Our hearts burned within us To hear but the word Which he spake, ere our spirits Acknowledged the Lord! The Lord hath ascended! Our hope is secure, We trusted not lightly;-- The promise is sure; The Lord hath ascended; And we his true-hearted, Go forth with rejoicing, Though he hath departed! THE TWO ESTATES. The children of the rich old man no carking care they know, Like lilies in the sunshine how beautiful they grow! And well may they be beautiful; in raiment of the best, In velvet, gold, and ermine, their little forms are drest. With a hat and jaunty feather set lightly on their head, And golden hair, like angels’ locks, over their shoulders spread. And well may they be beautiful; they toil not, neither spin, Nor dig, nor delve, nor do they ought their daily bread to win. They eat from gold and silver all luxuries wealth can buy; They sleep on beds of softest down, in chambers rich and high. They dwell in lordly houses, with gardens round about, And servants to attend them if they go in or out. They have music for the hearing, and pictures for the eye, And exquisite and costly things each sense to gratify. No wonder they are beautiful! and if they chanceto die, Among dead lords and ladies, in the chancel vault they lie.