The tomb was empty on Sunday morning,
The stone miraculously rolled away.
The grave clothes that had shrouded his body,
No longer enveloped death and decay.
The downcast faces of failed disciples,
Who scorned the cross, renounced his name
And the tear streaked-faces of faithful women
Who watched him die and saw his pain;
To them comes news of joy unending
As creation’s song begins again
The world redeemed in him who died -
In He who lives is being remade.
