When sorrow strikes like tempests fierce and wild,
And hearts lie wounded by the grave’s dark claim,
We lift our eyes beyond the mortal veil,
For Christ has triumphed—death is not the same.

Precious in His sight is the death of His saints—
Not lost in shadow, but in glory crowned;
The Father calls them home where joy awaits,
And heaven’s courts with resurrection sound.

We grieve, yet not as others grieve who mourn
Without the victory that Christ has won;
For death is swallowed up in life reborn,
The sting removed— the battle fought and won.

The Shepherd leads through valleys deep and long,
His rod and staff a banner raised on high;
He turns our mourning to a victor’s song,
And wipes each tear beneath the open sky.

Though winter’s frost may bind the heart in gray,
The seed of faith lies buried but alive;
In blazing dawn of resurrection’s day,
What death once claimed shall in His glory thrive.

No more the parting, no the final breath—
The grave is conquered by the risen King!
The Lamb is Light, and life has conquered death;
In golden streets the saints forever sing.

Lift up your head, O mourner, bold and free—
Hope is no fragile reed but anchor strong;
What earth has lost, eternity shall see
Restored in triumph with the heav’nly throng.

The Comforter descends with power divine,
And in the hush the Father’s victory rings;
For joy erupts where once the sorrows pine—
Beloved, rise! The risen Savior brings.

Rest not in darkness—claim the victor’s crown;
The veil shall rend, and eyes shall clearly see.
Precious the saint now safe in glory’s dawn—
We grieve with hope, for victory is ours in Thee.