Brood of the accusers Drew by the accused From underneath that bushel You Sat among the ruse With some Sentiment of sympathy Some Sediment of truth You knew of the kingdom coming But not quite what to do You said Is it too late for me? Is my wrong to great to right? Can I give him what I have to give An empty tomb to bide With your hands of grief you held him But they were not all your own Predetermined and ever pleased Was the fathers will to sow The eternal seed of sweetness With the rich in the cleft of the stone He was raised to the comfort beyond the Jordan Now his glory on earth is known I said Is it too late for me? Is my wrong to great to right? Can I give him what I have to give An empty tomb to bide