Ye choirs of ancient churches sing,

And choral notes employ,

From ev’ry tower let bells ring

In peals of holy joy.

At sunrise see the faithful come

Bearing the fish and bread,

The parish breakfast made for some

Who haven’t stayed in bed.

In vestments that are clean and white,

Our clergy are arrayed,

The churches are all full of light,

To brighten their parade.

Each window holds a floral spray,

Where fragrances abound,

The children search for choccy eggs,

And scream when they are found.

Small gardens made of twigs and moss,

Each show a rolling stone,

Above which stands an empty cross,

Our saviour’s former throne.

For this is now our Paschal feast,

The day that sees him rise,

And now for forty days at least

The world will hear our cries:

Alleluia!  Amen!