Christ Rose By His Own Power

      He rose in the night; no hand at the door, no voice in his ear, no rough touch awakening him. Other watchers than Pilate's soldiers stood by the sepulchre; but these angels whom it will became to keep guard at this dead man's chamber door, beyond opening it, beyond rolling away the stone, beyond looking on with wondering eyes, took no part in the scenes of that eventful morning. The hour sounds; the appointed time arrives. Having slept out his sleep, Jesus stirs; he awakes of his own accord he rises by his own power; and arranging, or leaving attending angels to arrange, the linen clothes, he walks out on the dewy ground, beneath the starry sky, to turn grief into the greatest joy, and hail the breaking of the brightest morn that ever rose on this guilty world. That open empty tomb assures us of a day when ours too shall be as empty. Having raised himself, he has power to raise his people, panic-stricken soldiers flying to the scene, and Mary rising from his blessed feet to hasten to the city, to rush through the streets, to burst in among the disciples, and with a voice of joy to cry, His is risen, He is risen! prove this is no vain brag or boast, "I lay down my life that I might take it again. No man taketh it from me, but I lay it down of myself. I have the power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again." Rev. Dr. Gutherie.

Phil Wickham sings, "Christ Is Risen"

 

MAN REDEEMABLE

With other ministrations thou, O Nature!
Healest thy wandering and distempered child:
Thou pourest on him thy soft influences,
Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets,—

Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters
Till he relent, and can no more endure
To be a jarring and a dissonant thing
Amid this general dance and minstrelsy;

But, bursting into tears, wins back his way,
His angry spirit healed and harmonized
By the benignant touch of love and beauty.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge.