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WHEN to the rock-hewn tomb they brought
The lifeless Lord, with bitter tears,
And lingered, lost in sorrowing thought,
And saw no end to doubts and fears;

When wondering at the works divine,
And wondering at the shameful death,
And at the last attesting sign—
Earth shaken by a dying breath; —

’Mid all these questionings and fears
Did some sweet spirit whisper trust,—
That He who dried the widow’s tears
Would raise His own cold form from dust?

Ah, blessed grave ! which friendship there
Yielded to hold the sacred clay
That mutely claimed such pious care.
The Crucified is here to-day.