Resting from His work to­day
In the tomb the Sav­ior lay;
Still He slept, from head to feet
Shrouded in the wind­ing sheet,
Lying in the rock alone,
Hidden by the seal­èd stone.

Late at ev­en there was seen
Watching long the Mag­da­lene;
Early, ere the break of day,
Sorrowful she took her way
To the ho­ly gar­den glade,
Where her bur­ied Lord was laid.

So with Thee, till life shall end,
I would so­lemn vi­gil spend:
Let me hew Thee, Lord, a shrine
In this roc­ky heart of mine,
Where in pure em­balm­èd cell,
None but Thou may ev­er dwell.

Myrrh and spic­es will I bring,
True af­fect­ion’s of­fer­ing;
Close the doors from sight and sound
Of the bu­sy world around;
And in pa­tient watch re­main
Till my Lord ap­pear again.