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The Resurrection


The sun has not yet risen.

The night is very still.

A woman kneels silently praying,

Beside a hewn-out hill.


Soldiers stand in anxious attendance,

Around the silent grave,

Guarding the body of the man,

Who sleeps within the cave.


The soldiers are all frightened,

As the night slowly drifts away.

And the rose of dawn now heralds,

The coming of the third day.


The memory of the words:

“Be it done according to Thy will”

Echoes throughout the hillsides,

As the scriptures are fulfilled.


All is quiet.


The heavens part in fury,

And thunder fills the sky!

The soldiers fall upon the ground,

Covering their frightened eyes!


Only the woman sees the angel,

With flaming hair and sword,

Streak the sky, and part the stone,

That seals the tomb of the Lord.


He comes forth in shining glory,

His face as bright as day,

Conquering death, and conquering sin --

His gown is of heaven’s rays.


The woman utters a startled cry,

Falling upon her knees.

Her face is full of radiance,

As she gazes with ecstasy,


Upon the conqueror of Death,

This Jesus, King and Lord,

The Son of man, and of God;

The Savior of the world.


All is quiet.


Debra Shiveley Welch

©1978



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