Classic Poem

'Twas at the matin hour,
Before the early dawn;
The prison doors flew open,
The bolts of death were drawn.

'Twas at the matin hour,
When pray'rs of saints are strong;
When two short days ago
He bore the spitting, wounds and wrong.

From realms unseen, an unseen way,
Th' Almighty Saviour came,
And following on His silent steps,
An angel armed in flame.

The stone is rolled away,
The keepers fainting fall,
Satan and Pilate's watchmen,
The day has scared them all.

The angel came full early,
But Christ had gone before,
Not for Himself, but for his Saints,
Is burst the prison door.

When all His Saints assemble,
Make haste ere twilight cease,
His Easter blessing to receive,
And so lie down in peace.