John, the beloved disciple

Speak to me, o' voice that now is still.

It is I, thy most beloved.

Can that One who taught me how to live

Lie dead and buried in the vault?

Is that gentle spirit wrapped in linen

And anointed for eternity?

Or will You not forsake the tomb

And come once more to me?

Was it not just yesterday that

This head did on Your breast abide?

And was it not just yesterday

That I stood at the side

Of Your mother weeping, wailing

For the loss of You, her pride?

And did You not say, ‘Woman,

There is your son.’

And also cry, so near to death,

‘Do not forget her, John.’

I loved You, Lord, with all my heart,

With every taken breath.

I will not believe, even now, that

You be swallowed up in death.