I know He’s not here.
He’s not dead.
He rose as He said.
O the suspenseful look of those who killed Him!
Their fate grew very dim.
They bruised His every limb.
Their recompense isn’t so trim.
Every eye will see,
Even those who nailed Him to the tree.
Everyone will pay respect,
As the Son of Man stands gloriously erect.
Everybody will acknowledge,
And say sorrow to those who paid homage.
Those who never knew,
Will then know what’s true.
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