Resurrection of the Redeemer
By Nicoll Robertson
Oh, the anguish of Mary, the depth of despair
When she came to the tomb and the Lord was not there!
As she desolate stood with her balm and her myrrh
And the winding sheet only was waiting for her.
Oh, the blackness of death, oh, life's utter despair
Had she come to the tomb and the Lord had been there,
Lying wrapped in the sheet with the balm and the myrrh
And no risen Redeemer was waiting for her.
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*The book from which I culled this poem credits it as I did above. I looked up the author's name, and this man was in the search results.
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