Tristes erant Apostoli

When Christ, by his own servants slain,
Had died upon the bitter Cross,
Th’ Apostles, of their joy bereft,
Were weeping their dear Saviour’s loss:

Meanwhile, an Angel at the tomb
To holy women hath foretold,
“The faithful flock shall soon with joy
Their Lord in Galilee behold.”

Who, as they run the news to bring,
Lo, straightway Christ Himself they meet,
All radiant with heavenly light,
And falling, clasp his sacred feet.

To Galilee’s lone mountain heights
The Apostolic band retire:
There, blest with their dear Saviour’s sight,
They taste in full their soul’s desire.

O Jesu! from the death of sin
Keep us, we pray; so shalt Thou be
The everlasting Paschal joy
Of all the souls new-born in Thee.

Now to the Father, and the Son,
Who rose from death, be glory given;
With Thee, O holy Comforter,
Henceforth by all in earth and Heaven.

Glory to Jesus, who returns
In pomp triumphant to the sky,
With Thee, O Father, and with Thee,
O Holy Ghost, eternally.