On the promised third day morning,
Jesus walked from Joseph’s tomb;
Thus on Satan He served warning
Of an everlasting doom;
For the grave could not retain Him,
Though the human path He trod,
But the bands of death must yield Him,
As He was the Son of God.
This gives hope in Jesus’ coming,
For the saints who sleep in Him;
They shall waken in the morning,
Then their eyes shall ne’er grow dim;
Tho’ by nature they are mortal,
And are subject to decline,
They shall then be made immortal,
And in Jesus’ image shine.
When the graves give up their treasure,
And the dead to life are brought,
Then their joy no one can measure,
Who with Jesus’ blood were bought;
For the prophets have been writing
Of that day so soon to come;
And a few are still delighting
In the thought of home, sweet home.
Glory! Glory be to Jesus!
For this resurrection hope;
How it thrills and tends to shield us
In the midst of much false hope;
We will tell it, we will sing it,
While we wait the day foretold;
Still we’ll tell it, and will sing it,
When we walk the streets of gold.