We bless the cross and resurrection,
by which we all were saved
And yet in this we’re apt to miss,
the power of the grave.
Was there any meaning then,
In that cold rock they lay him in?
His corpse they gave to Joseph,
who begged them with his sighs,
A rich man who would surely come,
in through the needle’s eye.
And with him Nicodemus, old,
helped put him in the tomb.
Old enters now a second time,
into, unearthly, womb.
And after them came Zeb’dee’s wife,
tears-stains on her palm,
Exalting not herself or sons,
she came there to embalm.
Then Mary Magdalene came weeping,
not from His body far.
Her love for him already poured,
from alabaster jar.
Then came the other Mary, too
who’d known Him from the first,
Now to add the pains of death,
unto the pains of birth.
But after they had left there came –
haughty, cruel, and proud –
The Roman Guard with seal and spear,
laughing, leering loud.
Then with the morning light there came,
a guard from other realms.
They sallied with a mighty shout,
with bright and blazing helms.
The tomb fulfilled the prophesy,
the Guard proved he was dead.
Embalmed, God let him lay three days,
outside of mortals’ beds.
That grave-side truth held, though t’was small
Immortals, Mourners, Scoffers, All