Poetry

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Spent was another cold and sleepless night,
In contemplation of a future dim—
The sun of love and hope eclipsed behind
A stone rolled ‘cross a cave’s now darkened brim.
The rooster crows, and mourning comes to find,
The grieving crew now dazed and mystified.
How could they kill the Savior of mankind?
Nailed to a cross of wood, his life denied.
Then swung the door and in ran those who’d seen
The rich man’s tomb that swallowed up their hopes
Devoid of all but rags where He had been—
My God! He’s shaken off all of death’s ropes!
He’s risen from the grave and now He lives!
And those deserving of His death forgives.

By David Garrett
Copyright 2002

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