Come, see the place where Je­sus lies:
The last sad rite is done;
With ach­ing hearts, and weep­ing eyes,
The faith­ful few are gone.
They washed with tears each bloody trace,
On those dear limbs that lay;
Then spread the nap­kin o’er His face,
And turned and went away.

By seal­èd stone with ground­ed spears,
The guards their vi­gil keep:
They wist not oth­er eyes than theirs
Watch o’er the Sav­ior’s sleep.
All Heav’n above, all hell be­neath—
Bright hope, and blank dis­may—
Look on, to see if gris­ly Death
Can hold his migh­ty prey.

Now gris­ly Death, thy pow­ers com­bine!
Now gird thee to the strife!
Yet needs there strong­er arm than thine
To keep the Lord of life.
’Tis done! O Death, thy Vic­tor-guest
Hath smoothed thy vis­age grim!
O grave! thou place of bless­èd rest
To all who sleep in Him!