Where is thy sting, O death?

Grave! where thy victory?

The clod may sleep in dust beneath,

The spirit will be free!

Both man and time have power

O’er suffering, dying men;

But death arrives, and in that hour

The soul is freed again.

Then, death, where is thy sting?

And where thy victory, grave?

O’er your dark bourn the soul will spring

To Him who loves to save.