English poem
The Lord Jesus
by Mary Howitt (1799–1888)
Why are ye troubled? Why weep ye and grieve? What the prophets have written Why slowly believe?
’Tis I, be not doubtful! Why ponder ye so? Behold in my body The marks of my woe!
The willing hath suffered; The chosen been slain; The end is accomplished! Behold me again!
Death has been conquered— The grave has been riven— For sin a remission Hath freely been given!
Fearless in spirit, Yet meek as the dove, Go preach to the nations This gospel of love.
For the might of the mighty Shall o’er you be cast; And I will be with you, My friends, to the last.
I go to the Father, But I will prepare Your mansions of glory, And welcome you there.
There life never-ending; There bliss that endures; There love never changing, My friends, shall be yours!
But the hour is accomplished! My children, we sever— But be ye not troubled, I am with you forever!