On this sun-rising, jasmine-scented morning,
summoning bells call the dead alive.
In mimosa-fragrant groves,
gnarled olive trees spit
defiance in death’s face.
He has come,
emergent from the stone-girt tomb,
face blazing in life’s transcendence.
He melted every chain
in His fiery furnace.
He is limitless energy,
unbounded power raised up.
He makes the deserts give forth
cedar and acacia.
He lifts up
the despairing and the doubting.
Black-clad mourners
He pulls to their feet.
The limping regain their strength,
blind are given sight.
Following behind His
fiery footsteps, humanity;
restored children
of eternity’s kingdom;
forever established upon the earth.
© Phil Kemp 1999 (revised 2026)
