On the First Day of the Week

I stumbled to the tomb that morning

myself, altogether alone

uncertain what I could do

but sit by his grave and weep

weep for the lost man

his lost glory, my lost hope

after that most horrible of all days

questions flying through my mind

"Why?", "Was I wrong?", "Was he?"

I staggered to the tomb that morning

not knowing ...

we hurried to the tomb that morning

the three of us, together

one unfinished task to complete

to pay our final honour to the one we loved

the on-rushing Sabbath

leaving too little time for honour

after that most horrible of all days

questions flying through our minds

"Why?", "Were we wrong?", "Was he?"

we rushed to the tomb that morning

not knowing ...

we raced to the tomb that morning

the two of us, scrambling

to answer an astonishing question

we had heard things too fantastic to believe

so we ran, not knowing what to know

we had no idea what to expect

after that most horrible of all days

questions flying through our minds

"Why?", "Were we wrong?", "Was he?"

we ran into the tomb that morning

not knowing ...

we went to the tomb that morning

not knowing …

we would see His place … empty!

we would see His shroud … folded!

we would see HIM!!! … ALIVE!!!

we came from the tomb that morning

changed …

our grief becoming joy

our doubt becoming faith

our love becoming worship