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Easter Even.

And Joseph wrapped the body in a clean linen cloth, and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn out in the rock.

From the Gospel. [Matt. 27:59-60]


Su ruhest du, o meine Ruh

Salomo Franck (1659-1725). 1711.

trans. by Catherine Winkworth, 1855

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;

And thus 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 nought 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.

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