The Resurrection

Relentless as the council is the cross;
The Nazarene is bruised and torn;—
Mourn! ye despised disciples, mourn!
Priest, scribe, and elder triumph in your loss.

The watch is set,—the sepulcher is sure;
Death and the grave and Rome unite—
Triumvirate of matchless might—
To make Sin’s vaunted victory secure.

Secure? With sudden awe the aged earth
Feels him alive within the tomb;
And lo! emerging from the gloom,
The brightest morning since creation’s birth!

The nations see the Dayspring from on high,
And greet the mighty miracle
With songs that shake the gates of hell,
And animate the anthems of the sky.