Come, see the place where Jesus lies:
The last sad rite is done;
With aching hearts, and weeping eyes,
The faithful few are gone.
They washed with tears each bloody trace,
On those dear limbs that lay;
Then spread the napkin o’er His face,
And turned and went away.
By the sealed stone with grounded spears,
The guards their vigil keep:
They wist not other eyes than theirs
Watch o’er the Savior’s sleep.
All Heaven above, all hell beneath—
Bright hope, and blank dismay—
Look on, to see if grisly Death
Can hold his mighty prey.
Now grisly death, thy powers combine!
Now gird thee to the strife!
Yet needs there stronger arm than thine
To keep the Lord of life.
’Tis done! O death, thy Victor-guest
Hath smoothed thy visage grim!
O grave! thou place of blessèd rest
To all who sleep in Him!