Sunday, April 8, 2012
Easter morning full of glory,
Now, unveiled mystery of His story.
Cold, cruel men lied, lifting him high,
Two days earlier watching him die.
His body broken, his blood shed,
Lance pierced side, sure he's dead.
Taken down by silent friends,
In their sorrow sure his story ends.
Laid out in a cold stone tomb,
The Father's plan tis a resurrection womb.
On the first new day of the week,
A servant comes, hears a gardener speak.
Please sir, where have you taken my Lord,
He is my life, my teacher, my Master adored.
Jesus speaks her name, her longing heart does leap,
She clutches his feet, longing her Lord to keep.
She leaves and empty tomb that day,
Ever after, telling all that He is the Way.