It Is Finished

For real.

O Death, Death, He is come.
O grounds of Hell make room.
Who came from further than the stars
Now comes as low beneath.
Thy ribbèd ports, O Death
Make wide; and Thou, O Lord of Sin,
Lay open thine estates
Lift up your heads, O Gates;
Be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors
The King of Glory will come in.

- Gerard Manley Hopkins

There's lots, lots more in his catalog. Lots.