Darkness unique evaporates,
Revealing there beyond the gates
Of Zion’s holy hill
A cross on which there hangs a Man,
The woman’s Seed, eternal plan:
His body now is still.
Appalling scene of grossest sin!
The wickedness that lies within
The heart of Adam’s race
Is clearly brought to light that day,
As precious Stone they cast away:
No beauty in His face.
Against the tide of leaving folk,
Two men arrive together yoked,
A noble task to do:
With weighty load and hands so full,
They stand and contemplate the Skull,
The lifted-Man to view.
"He’s dead!", the Devil’s children cheer,
As they behold, the two draw near,
A mallet clenched in hand:
With gentle hammer blows they shake,
The nails that penetrate the stake,
And free the slaughtered Lamb.
Onto the clean, fine, linen sheet
They lay that single grain of wheat,
And wrap the kernel round:
First-hand they witness wounds of pain,
And blood that does the linen stain,
At Pilate’s killing ground.
Swiftly they race the ebbing day,
And with their burden make their way
Towards the virgin tomb,
Which lies amid the leafy glade,
Where unknown gardener plies his trade,
On lush and tender bloom.
Inside the cave abounding grace,
The poor-Man takes the rich man’s place,
And sorrow lingers there:
The myrrh is poured and aloes blend
Anointing thus the sinner’s Friend,
Sweet fragrance fills the air.
The failing rays of sinking sun,
Demand their burying work is done;
The Sabbath comes again:
The stone is rolled, the mourners part,
Little knowing in their heart,
The Son shall rise again.
