He Rested [Original Sonnet for Holy Saturday]

Our day of rest has come—we have not slept.

We rise in darkness, taunted by the dawn.

No sun can light these wasted eyes. We wept

to flood our beds with tears: our Lord is gone.

He promised we would know the way, yet He

has gone beyond the scope of foll’wing feet.

His ears are closed to crying. Hands that we

stretch out for rescue find Him out of reach.

(Or so we, darkling, think.) But look—He rests

this Sabbath, for His work is finished here.

The faithful servant wins the keys of death,

sets free the captives, brings the far-off near.

Awaken to the light of life; be blessed

with Him to rise and enter into rest.