You rise, O Lord, in a lightening power,

drawing, pulling our sisters and brothers

from their lonely graves, first

Eve and Adam, now living, breathing

from their stone tombs, as you kick

the doors of death with the panels

of your cross, grasping, with warm

hands, their hands that lay cold, lifeless

in the earth, locked in darkness

with fetters and chains, an oblivion

of dark hidden from loving-kindness,

locked and sealed from breathing

and holding, feeling life’s caress,

and waiting for glory’s moment of Pascha,

moment of exodus, moment of love,

moment of freedom to live and give,
long due praise and glory to God above.