Recreate the Empty Tomb - Micah Miller

Text- Emily Miller Blood is dripping down like sweat. Agony has found his man. Groanings grip the trembling frame. Angels come as pleas ascend. The moment nears for which He came. Bowing down, He whispers low, “Not my will, but Thine be done.” Rest abides as strivings flee. Lord I pray, within my heart, Recreate Gethsemane. Hanging there, His skin in shreds, Thorns press hard against His skull. As He heaves in shuddered breath, Searing pain tears through His arms. Ebbing life gives way to death. “It is finished!” comes the cry. Blood still drips, though slower now. Life has fled, no breath has He. Lord I pray, within my heart, Recreate Your Calvary. Light is stealing o’er the fields, Glinting off the granite tomb. Rustling comes from deep within, Grave clothes folded, stay behind, Life o’er death will ever win!