With glad and joyous strains now let each street resound, And let the laurel wreath each Christian brow entwine; With torches waving bright, let old and young go forth, And swell the train in solemn line. Whilst we with bitter tears, with sighs and grief profound, Wail o'er the saving Blood, poured forth upon the Tree, Oh, deeply let us muse, and count the heavy price, Which Christ hath paid to make us free. The primal man of old, who fell by serpent's guile, Brought death and many woes upon his fallen race; But our New Adam, Christ, new life unto us gave, And brought to all ne'er-ending grace. To heaven's highest height, the wailing cry went up Of Him, who hung in pain, God's own eternal Son; His saving, priceless Blood, His Father's wrath appeased, And for His sons full pardon won. Whoe'er in that pure Blood his guilty soul shall wash, Shall from his stains be freed—be made as roses bright— Shall vie with Angels pure, shall please his King and Lord, And precious shine in His glad sight. Oh, from the path of right ne'er let thy steps depart, But haste thee to the goal in virtue's peaceful ways; Thy God who reigns on high will e'er direct thy steps, And crown thy deeds with blissful days. Father of all things made, to us propitious be, For whom Thy own dear Son, His saving Blood did spill; O Holy Spirit, grant the souls by Thee refreshed Eternal bliss may ever fill.