Do not stand at my grave and weep; Christ has risen; I’ve only fallen asleep.
It is He who commands the winds that blow. He who creates the diamond glint on snow.
He who causes the sunlight to shine on ripened grain. He who sends the gentle autumn rain.
He will waken me from death’s hush, in a swift uplifting rush, At the last trumpet’s might when the stars fail to light the night I will stand over my grave and cry, He has risen and so have I