There’s an open door before me,
Means of victory in store,
Through the gifts he purchased for us
Who a servant’s form once wore.
Principalities, dominations,
He their overthrow procured,
Spoiled them all, and jailed the jailer,
Through the passion he endured.

When I think upon that battle,
My sad soul leaps up with glee;
See! the law is held in honour,
Yet transgressors walk forth free;
See! our Resurrection’s buried,
And our Life laid underground;
See! our earth with highest heaven
In eternal peace is bound.

When on high he reascended,
All his work fulfilled below,
Lofty gates their heads uplifted,
All their wondering joy to show;
Doors flew open, choirs sang welcome
To the Incarnate in that land,
And the Father, glad and radiant,
Bade him sit at his right hand.

’Tis enough ’mid flooding waters,
’Tis enough ’mid flames of fire;
Cling to him, my soul, for ever,
Follow him, and never tire;
On Arabia’s desert pathways
Foes unnumbered wait for me;
Grant a share in his dear passion
Who was slain on Calvary.

-- Ann Griffiths (1776 - 1805)