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The long, long night is over now and gone,
So in the breaking beauty of the dawn
We turn toward the lonely garden where
We laid our Lord and, grieving, left Him there.
We see the hillside with the gaping scar,
We see the guards are gone, a door ajar.
We note with awe the silent, empty tomb,
The graveclothes folded in the granite room.
We hear a woman weeping at the sight;
We feel her sorrow, understand her fright.
With her we see the figure seated there,
Transcendent with an other-worldly air.
His words fall once again upon the ear:
“Fear not, the One you look for is not here –
Go quickly. . . .”
And we take the word and run
To tell the world about the risen One.
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