In grief’s pas­sion, deep and ho­ly,
Mary’s eyes with tears were wet,
Caring not for morn­ing’s splen­dor,
Since her star of hope had set,
While be­fore her stood the Mas­ter,
Slowly, through a mist of tears,
Showing her the ris­en Sav­ior
Heals all hearts and calms all fears.

Still He stands with­in the gar­den,
Where we lay our loved ones now,
Saying soft­ly to each mourn­er,
Dear one, O why weep­est thou?
For since He has made His pil­low
In the sha­dow of the tomb,
It should be the ho­ly por­tal
Where our sweet­est flow­ers bloom.

This is why we bring our li­lies,
Pure and white this East­er day,
For our Li­ly of the Val­ley
Takes from death its gloom away;
And as bursts the bud­ding blos­som
From earth’s pri­son, cold and dim,
So we break our earth­ly fet­ters,
And arise com­plete with Him.