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.