Where all hope seemed but lost,
Some had hid away,
After witnessing the cross.
In a tomb His body laid,
Covered with spices and cloth,
Breathless, immobile, surely dead,
Sealed behind a rock.
On tombstones are written birth years,
A dash life summarised,
Ending with the year of death,
Only these to be remembered by.
But Jesus, when He breathed His last,
Died on Friday noon,
And silent Saturday - today,
Marked a battle in the ruins.
He won the keys to Hades,
Got rid of shame and sin,
All while the world was mourning,
His dash meant victory.
Praise the Christ!
He set us free!
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