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cloud of night is past away: Mary, rejoice, rejoice, to-day! Alleluia.

He That abhorred not thy womb Hath risen victorious from the tomb. Alleluia.

The dart of death is knapped in twain: At feet death's self lies slain. Alleluia.

In consolation our annoy, Our sorrow hath his end in joy. Alleluia.

The Face with spitting marred so late Is glorious now as Heav'n's own gate. Alleluia.

Graved in His Hands and Feet, the Wounds Are rivers whence all Grace abounds. Alleluia.

Thy transverse arms, O Cross, are now The sceptre whereto all things bow. Alleluia.