While trotting down a dusty path
With aimless steps, we walk.
I'm heavy by my comrade's side
In disbelief and shock.
Oh how could I, a simple man,
Grasp all which happened there?
The place of my salvation and
The place of my despair.
I see a man approaching us,
His cloak drawn round his face.
His eyes: They penetrate my own.
A friend in such a place.
He speaks of things so wise and bold
And yet he does not know
About the trial and death of Christ?
The Roman's deadly blow?
And so we tell him of these things:
How Jesus bled and died,
The men who gave his body up
To have Him crucified.
The stranger listened silently.
Just nodding here and there.
He taught us, then, of all fortold,
Of prophets, Christ, and prayer.
At last we came upon the place
We hoped to stay that night.
I held deep questions in my heart
As dark dispelled the light.
The stranger planned to leave from there
But by our urge to stay,
We sat to eat a humble meal.
The stranger bowed to pray.
Just as the cloaked man stooped to pray
My heart cried out in laud:
"Is he who sits before me now
And prays, the Son of God?"
This bold apocalypse denied
Christ's death won over grace.
My swelling heart burst forth in joy,
Wet eyes look to His face.
But Christ had vanished-Then I wept.
Love vanquished my despair.
The agony and joy of grace
I almost could not bear.
Then rose we up to tell of all
His mercies would afford.
Behold Him: spotless Lamb and King,
Christ Jesus, risen Lord!