Another one from yesterday’s readings, to the tune NETTLETON (“Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing”):
I will praise you, faithful savior, for you drew me from the grave. When my courage cracked and wavered, you stretched out your hand to save. For the fallen cannot praise you, nor the damned your love proclaim, but as God the Father raised you, you have raised me just the same. You had blessed me with your goodness, but I fell in dark and gloom. Though I called you in my sickness, still I sank into my tomb. When you came, I lay in silence, shrouded in my aching wounds, yet I rose again to brightness when you said, “Talitha, koum.” Now your joy is dawning on me, and your voice I start to hear: all the answers to my longing, and the end of all my fear. Take this sackcloth and ashes; take this night awash with tears; change my mourning into dancing: Take my hand and draw me near!