Death and Resurrection (Thompson)

The priests

the el­ders

and the scribes

From coun­cil had ad­journed;

And Pi­late’s prof­fered sac­ri­fice

The mob had prompt­ly spurned.

And up Gol­go­tha’s ris­ing slope

A bois­ter­ous

cru­el

band

With taunts

and jeers

and foul re­buke

Leads forth the Son of Man.

Oh

what a scene for hu­man eyes!

Our Sav­ior

bowed in grief;

And tor­tured by the ve­ry ones

To whom He brings re­lief.

Close at His side

a swar­thy man

Beneath His cross doth bow;

Oh Simon! Ne’er did mor­tal bend

To nob­ler task than thou.

And

on the brow of Cal­va­ry

With scoff­ing

and with scorn

They nailed our Sav­ior to the cross

With dia­dem of thorn.

’Tis done

and Jo­seph now has laid

His bo­dy in the tomb;

And none ex­cept the guards keep watch

Amid the som­ber gloom.

But what can bar our ho­ly Lord

Or cross His won­drous plan?

The strong­hold ’bout His lone­ly tomb.

Shows un­be­lief of man.

When

to the tomb

the wo­men came

In grief

at break of day

An an­gel

’mid an earth­quake vast

Had rolled the stone away.

No pow­er with­in this great do­main

Can stay our migh­ty king;

Oh grave

where is thy vic­to­ry

Oh death

where is thy sting!

Despite the grave

des­pite the bar

In tri­umph He hath flown.

And sit­teth now at God’s right hand

Joint-rul­er of His own.