Rest of the weary! Thou
Thyself art resting now,
Where lowly in Thy sepulchre Thou liest;
From out her deathly sleep
My soul doth start,to weep
So sad a wonder, that Thou, Saviour, diest!
Thy bitter anguish o’er,
To this dark tomb they bore
Thee, Life of life — Thee, Lord of all creation!
The hollow rocky cave
Must serve Thee for a grave,
Who wast Thyself the Rock of our salvation.
O Prince of Life! I know
That when I too lie low,
Thou wilt at last my soul from death awaken:
Wherefore I will not shrink
From the grave’s awful brink;
The heart that trusts in Thee shall ne’er be shaken.
To me the darksome tomb
Is but a narrow room,
Where I may rest in peace, from sorrow free.
Thy death shall give me power
To cry, in that dark hour,
O Death, O Grave, where is your victory?
The grave can naught destroy.
Only the flesh can die,
And e’en the body triumphs o’er decay:
Clothed by Thy wondrous might
In robes of dazzling light,
This flesh shall burst the grave at that last day.
My Jesus, day by day,
Help me to watch and pray
Beside the tomb where in my heart Thou’rt laid.
Thy bitter death shall be
My constant memory,
My guide at last into Death’s awful shade.
Franck.