1 Where is thy sting, O death?
Grave! where thy victory?
The clod may sleep in dust beneath,
The spirit will be free!

2 Both man and time have power
O'er suffering, dying men;
But death arrives, and in that hour
The soul is freed again.

3 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.