“O grave, where is thy victory?”
THE grave! Appalling is the sight,
Chilling the heart with gloom of night,
Shaking the guilty with affright.
The grave, it speaks the reign of sin;
Death's prison, loathsome and unclean;
All full of dead-men's bones within.
The grave, sad end of pain and woe;
The goal of man's short race below,
To which each hour we nearer go.
The grave, insatiate, it devours
The dearest friends of life's best hours;
Naught satisfies its ravening powers.
The grave, oh, pride-abasing spot!
Of poor, and rich, alike the lot,
Where this weak flesh must foully rot.
The grave, who can its power withstand?
Who can deliver from its hand?
Or bid its portals open stand?
The grave,-beyond it all is gloom;
Who has returned here from the tomb,
To tell us of the unseen doom?
Such was the grave till Jesus came;
“The Resurrection" is His name,
Life out of death His lips proclaim.
The grave! To conquer death He dies,
In the dark tomb a Victim lies;
All hell there to detain Him tries.
The grave:-the Lord in triumph rose,
Victorious over all His foes,-
Its chains are gone, with all our woes.
The grave,-no more its vaults we fear,
Redeeming love has entered here;
Radiant with light its gates appear.
The grave: our Lord will soon descend,
His mighty voice its portals rend;
Then shall His saints to heaven ascend.
Oh, what a shout shall pierce the sky,
As from our tombs we upward fly!”
O grave, where is thy victory?”