Text
Poet unknown

First performance
Second Day of Easter,
10 April 1724

Written in Leipzig, Bach’s Easter cantata BWV 66 (preserved in its 1731 version) is a sacred parody based on a Cöthen serenade of 1718. Bach opens the work by taking the spectacular closing movement of the original – “Let sun shine forever, let pleasure bring laughter, let prosper Prince Leopold ever in Bliss” – and reworking it as an introductory chorus to the text of “Rejoice, all ye spirits, depart all ye sorrows, alive is our Saviour and ruling in you”. Characterised by its orchestral writing, this light and catchy movement is equally effective as a sacred work, with the calls of the choir in the twopart section no longer acclaiming the provincial rulers of Anhalt, but the victorious prince of heaven. The ad libitum trumpet part, largely moving in parallel with the violin or oboe, is evidently a Leipzig addition that Bach used to fortify the Easter mood, while the devout and humble middle section of the serenade (“Ah heaven, we pray now”) is recast as the “fainthearted anguish” of the disciples in the face of the overwhelming Easter events.
The bass recitative imparts its weighty message of Jesus’ resurrection and eternal triumph over death in a dense string setting that waits until the end of the movement before resolving into a joyous Easter fanfare. In contrast, the rich string and woodwind scoring of the bass aria applies the pomp of courtly festive music to a glorious song of thanksgiving to God, in which the soloist appears to mimic a virtuoso bassoonist in a catchy, yet distinctive orchestral dance.
A more sceptical tone soon returns, however, in the recitative. After the assured quality of the opening lines (“In Jesus’ life to live with joy”), an arioso dialogue somewhat abruptly ensues between the allegorical figures of “Fear” (alto) and “Hope” (tenor), whose textually contrasting lines (“Mine/No eye hath seen the Saviour raised from sleep”) and conflicting emotions of confidence and doubt eventually segue into an appeal for comfort and strength.
The penultimate movement, a duet with obbligato violin, retains the dialogue structure of the Cöthen original, but allows one voice to express belief in the resurrection while the other bemoans the “stolen” redemption; not until the middle section do the voices unite and proclaim together “Now is my heart made full of hope”. This mood is carried over to the closing chorale, composed especially for the Leipzig version, whose three cries of “Alleluja!” invite the congregation to join in an archaic yet timelessly powerful Easter song. Punctuated by organ interludes so typical of the time, this movement, like many of Bach’s Easter chorales, is a potent reminder that the hard-won resurrection is a festival of grave import.