It is fin­ished! Bless­èd Je­sus,
Thou hast breathed Thy lat­est sigh,
Teaching us the sons of Ad­am
How the Son of God can die.

Lifeless lies the brok­en body,
Hidden in its roc­ky bed,
Laid aside like fold­ed gar­ment:
Where is now the Spi­rit fled?

In the gloomy realms of dark­ness
Shines a light un­known before,
For the Lord of dead and liv­ing
Enters at the op­en door.

See! He comes, a will­ing vic­tim,
Unresisting hi­ther led;
Passing from the cross of sor­row
To the man­sions of the dead.

Lo! the hea­ven­ly light around Him
Ad He draws His peo­ple near;
All amazed they stand re­joic­ing
At the gra­cious words they hear.

For Him­self pro­claims the story
Of His own in­car­nate life,
And the death He died to save us,
Victor in that aw­ful strife.

Patriarch and priest and pro­phet
Gather round Him as He stands,
In ador­ing faith and glad­ness,
Hearing of the pierc­èd hands.

Oh, the bliss to which He calls them,
Ransomed by His pre­cious blood,
From the gloomy realms of dark­ness
To the pa­ra­dise of God!

There in low­li­est joy and won­der
Stands the rob­ber at His side,
Reaping now the bless­èd pro­mise
Spoken by the Cru­ci­fied.

Jesus, Lord of dead and liv­ing,
Let Thy mer­cy rest on me;
Grant me, too, when life is fin­ished,
Rest in pa­ra­dise with Thee.