O Woeful Hour When From The Night

O woeful hour! when from the night
Emerged in wrath Satanic might,
To crush the Christ, whom God in heaven,
To raise our fallen race, had given.

O woeful hour! when, with the scorn
Of sinful men, His soul was torn;
When sin exulting bowed the knee,
And stung the Christ with mockery.

O woeful hour! when to the tree
The Christ was nailed in agony;
When anguish for our sin He bore,
And thorns His throbbing temples tore.

O woeful hour! O darkest day!
The God-Man, still, entombed lay,
For death his cruel shaft had driven
To quell the hope our God had given.

O saddened soul! the night is past,
The morn, bright morn, has come at last;
The rage of sin its worst hath done,
Yet lives in power th’ eternal Son.

The dark hath vanished in the light;
O futile now, Satanic might;
Sin wounded lies, and death is slain
By Him who lives in power again.

Hail, glorious morn! the Christ hath risen;
Hail Victor from the darkest prison!
Up, up, my soul! thy praises pour
To Christ, Thy God, for evermore.

Hymns from the East,