Met around the sac­red tomb,
Friends of Je­sus, why those tears?
Mid this sad se­pul­chral gloom
Shall your faith give way to fears?
He will soon, e’en as He said,
Rise tri­um­phant from the dead.

Hidden from all ag­es past
Was the cross’ mys­te­ry,
Doubts awhile a veil had cast
O’er that first dear fa­mi­ly;
Till they saw Him, and be­lieved,
And as Lord and God re­ceived.

Now with tears of love and joy,
We re­mem­ber all His pain,
Sighs and groans and dy­ing cry;
For the Lamb for us was slain,
And, from death our souls to save,
Once for us lay in the grave.

Hither, sin­ners, all re­pair,
And with Je­sus Christ be dead;
All are safe from Sa­tan’s snare,
Who to Je­sus’ tomb have fled;
Here the weary and op­pressed
Find a ne­ver end­ing rest.

Wounded Sav­ior, full of grace,
Hast Thou suf­fered thus for me?
Ah! I hide my blush­ing face;
How have I re­quit­ed Thee?
Should not I with ar­dor burn
Some love’s to­ken to re­turn?

But al­as, the spark how small!
Scarcely seen at all to glow;
Lord, Thou know’st how short I fall;
And my growth in grace how slow;
Yet when to Thy cross I fly,
Soon all strange af­fect­ions die.

In Thy death is all my trust,
I have Thee my re­fuge made;
And when once, con­signed to dust,
In the tomb my bo­dy’s laid,
Then with sav­èd souls above
I will praise Thy dy­ing love.

But while here I’m left be­hind,
Burdened with in­fir­mi­ty,
May I help and com­fort find,
Visiting Geth­se­ma­ne,
Calvary and Jo­seph’s tomb,
Till my Sab­bath’s al­so come.