Burst are the iron gates of death

Burst are the iron gates of death—
A stronger power prevails;
For, by the cross, the cruel king
Before the Victor quails,
O clear the light that shines afar,
Where darkness held its sway,
For God, who made the light at first,
Restores its gladdening ray.

That sinners might for ever live,
The great Creator dies,
And by His death to new estate
Our souls enraptured rise.
There, Satan groaned in baffled hate,
Where Christ our triumph won—
For what to Him was deathly loss,
To man was life begun.

He grasps the envied prize, but fails,
And while he wounds, he dies;
But calmly, and with mighty power,
The King secures the prize;
And, leaving earth, His triumph won,
He seeks His native skies.

And now triumphant o'er the grave,
The Lord to earth returns;
To new create our fallen race,
His soul with ardour burns;
Down to the dwellings of the lost,
To dwell with man He came;
And hearts in grievous bondage held,
Receive Him with acclaim.