Your friend is sick. No greater love had any than He


Who willed to him breath yet delayed at this moment of death


For warm, open Lazarus, called to distinct destiny.


Four days will soon pass. But my quiet friend only sleeps.


Dear’s Mary and Martha the sisters? Surely they weep.


Weep, yes they will weep when My blood sweats Gethsemane.


We go now and I will raise my dear friend. But you said he sleeps, if so he will get better.


Soon yes, though at present his cold state is the fate of all men.


The hour is late, they are closing the gates, the dark day is well spent so why bother?


Jesus turned and said, Lazarus is dead and I too know the love for a brother.


They were met on the way, Come see where he’s lain,


Friend of Jesus, esteemed beloved, claimed rightly by sin.


Poor disheartened souls for a member lying now as one slain.


Dry wind, foul smell, food of worms, Jesus wept at the shame.


By sword, fall, or sickness, to Him it was one and the same.


Martha was first and then Mary cried, cried one than the other,


Had you come he would have lived, for you we did send.


Jesus wept at their pain, for the mark left by Cain, He wept for he was a dear friend.


The mourners stopped. See His love? But weep He, of all Men?


Yes I weep! I hate death more than you do.


The question should be do you believe in me? Do you?


The source of all life had most to detest, At the yawning tomb of filth that must be.


He wept with the group, and then sobbed quite aloud; This is for Father’s Glory.


Weep? He also would wash feet. But now comes a look-round in anger.


Among wilted figs, demons cowered and cringed, at once feeling danger.


That within Him was Life and o’er Jordan Life will ferry.


Said He, you’ve too little faith, found if you will only seek.


Silence descended on spirits willing but bodies so weak.


He could see reaching what they could not see


O’er the cowed crowd, coming true, the cruel Roman tree.


On his newly stern face were seen tears not a trace


Save the dust streaks just born caused of mankind’s disgrace.


He knew fair ahead was the earning of scars, But His sorrowful rage at that which now marred


Here in tomb’s shadow would anon be routed and no more.


And appointment He would face. Demons now fled the place.


He who bore proper the blemish of poverty, While wearing the Mantle of eternity’s Keeper,


Of infinite worth shouted Lazarus come forth!


And the Trumpet of justified wars, breached Sheol’s unbreakable bars


As Hell’s castle was rent in a moment, Hell’s remnants, rendered deeper.


Loose the rags off him set him free. Now weeping for joy hearing Lazarus’s voice, Praise be!


Death marked me too soon, said he, and God shining, won a victory.


And men will come to see the pitiful vessel He used, me. He never feigned at my identity.


But the Master will be no simple mender, He will totally conquer through surrender.


Sin be gone, death be dead. New day has dawned, Master has said. John ch. 11.