The Resurrection

The Lord lay lifeless in His tomb,
    Enwrapped and tightly bound,
In linen grave-cloth gray with gloom,
    But peaceful and profound.
Inside the folds there flashed a flare
    That left no smoke nor cloud,
But burned His mortal image there
    Within the linen shroud.

At early morn the watch had fled
    No one remained inside.
So justice - mercy now are wed,
    In oneness side by side.
Then Heaven in Her wisest ways
    Elected, that good part
That burns the image of His grace
    On each believing heart.