A
Grave Carol
Amos Wilson (January 12,
2014)
We
bless the cross and resurrection,
by
which we all were saved
And
yet in this we’re apt to miss,
the
power of the grave.
Was
there any meaning then,
In
that cold rock they lay him in?
His
corpse they gave to Joseph,
who
begged them with his sighs,
A rich
man who would surely come,
in
through the needle’s eye.
And
with him Nicodemus, old,
helped
put him in the tomb.
Old
enters now a second time,
into,
unearthly, womb.
And
after them came Zeb’dee’s wife,
tears-stains
on her palm,
Exalting
not herself or sons,
she
came there to embalm.
Then
Mary Magdalene came weeping,
not
from His body far.
Her
love for him already poured,
from
alabaster jar.
Then
came the other Mary, too
who’d
known Him from the first,
Now to
add the pains of death,
unto
the pains of birth.
But
after they had left there came –
haughty,
cruel, and proud –
The
Roman Guard with seal and spear,
laughing,
leering loud.
Then
with the morning light there came,
a
guard from other realms.
They
sallied with a mighty shout,
with
bright and blazing helms.
The
tomb fulfilled the prophesy,
the
Guard proved he was dead.
Embalmed,
God let him lay three days,
outside
of mortals’ beds.
That
grave-side truth held, though t’was small
Immortals,
Mourners, Scoffers, All
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