The Lord is risen, the stone is rolled away,
But not by human hands.
The morning breaks, night’s shadows flee away,
And broken are death’s bands.

The Lord is risen; and buried in His tomb,
The weight of sin He bore
Upon the cross for me.
The fear, the gloom of death haunt me no more.

The Lord is risen; blest proof that God in heaven
Accepts the sacrifice.
The work is done, my sins are all forgiven,
My Saviour paid the price.

The Lord is risen; His pierced hands and side
Now plead for me above.
The Lord is risen; He lives for me, who died
To save and win my love.

The Lord is risen, and waits for me up there
In that bright home above,
Where He has gone His mansions to prepare
For those who know His love.

Yea, He is risen, my Representative,
And pledge that He, in grace,
My debt has paid. Because He lives, I live,
And shall behold His face.

Yea, He is risen. Within the veil I’ve cast
My anchor, and ’ere long
I shall be home with His redeemed, at last,
To sing the new eternal song.

Since He is risen, faith cannot but avail;
And so I trust His word:
I know ’tis true. Thy promise could not fail,
My risen, living Lord.

—Helen McDowell

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