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And yet, who ever was so kind and gentle?
Disease and death before His touch had fled,
And she herself had felt that power of healing;
He was her Master, though He lay there dead.

We know the rest; we know how Jesus found her,
As she stood sadly by the tomb alone,
And spoke her name in tones so sweet and tender
She knew the loving voice must be His own.

We have no need to stand and weep with Mary,
For He who rose that day shall weep no more;
Yet sometimes now, our eyes grow dim with sorrow,
We can not see the Lord whom we adore,

And gloomy doubts rise up like clouds before us;
“Is what we counted gain an utter loss?