He saw and he believed.
The Sun dappled transient on the wooden cross.
And for this moment when I surveyed this cross the gift of faith , I received.
The linen clothes so negligently laid are a sign of our doubts loss.
All those hints , prophesies, words so negligently forgot.
This simple cross , it’s plain wood more glorious than any gold.
I see now my belief so small , so fleeting , so hard to grasp was my lot.
Is our faith then to worldly cares sold,
No, He is not here. He is risen.
And joy in my faint heart rises.
Like Mary we can only run to tell others of this vision.
The morning star that never sets. He really is here . Our burdens he reposes.
He bore for us the cross without complaint.
And he can make of all us if we wish, an apprentice saint.