The Grave Itself a Garden Is

The grave it­self a gar­den is

Where love­li­est flow­ers ab­ound;

Since Christ

our nev­er fad­ing Life

Sprang from that ho­ly ground.

O give us grace to die to sin

That we

O Lord

may have

So ho­ly

hap­py rest in Thee

A Sab­bath in the grave.

Thou

Lord

bap­tized in Thine own blood

And bur­ied in the grave

Didst raise Thy­self to end­less life

Omnipotent to save.

Baptized in­to Thy death we died

And bur­ied were with Thee

That we might fly with Thee to God

And ev­er blest might be.

Lord

through the grave and gate of death

May we

with Thee

arise

To an eter­nal East­er day

Of glo­ry in the skies!