The Awful Noontide Gloom Is O’er

The aw­ful noon­tide gloom is o’er

The dark­ness ebbs away;

The Ma­ries lin­ger to ad­ore:

O

let us with them pray!

Yea

let us lin­ger ’neath the cross

Where hangs the Lord of Life;

Now let us weep their bit­ter loss

And mourn our car­nal strife.

More calm­ly now each past of­fense

May we in grief re­view

And weep our van­ished in­no­cence

And feel des­pair our due.

Yet He up­on the cross who lies

For us hath par­don won;

Thence blend we com­fort with our sighs

And laud the glo­ri­ous Son.

The hours creep on—O rest we here

Beneath the cross’ shade!

We’ll keep our vi­gil

sad yet dear

Till low our Lord is laid.

See! Jo­seph comes with spic­es’ store;

See Ni­co­demus aid:

They gaze up­on their Lord once more

While day­light’s rays do fade.

With pi­ous haste and pi­ous awe

They soon their task com­plete;

From those blest hands the nails they draw

And free those sac­red feet.

Then down the bless­èd form they bear

And low on earth to lay

And weep­ing bend in si­lent pray­er

Yet scarce for tears can pray.

Now see that gra­cious com­pa­ny

The Ma­ries

true Saint John

And those twain lords of high de­gree

Now raise and bear Him on.

They bear Him to the new-hewn tomb

There down their Lord they set

And leave Him in the sac­red gloom

Their Lord

and Sav­ior yet.

O si­lent tears

O sighs of pain

How flowed ye fast and free!

For them

for us

the Lamb was slain

To all eter­ni­ty.