Come Sunday

When all is suddenly dark
With sadness bleak and stark
I picture a gray Friday
When all hope felt to be in vain.

For, Our Lord was upon a cross.
And, for mankind, all seemed lost.
The earth shook and darkness grew.
What were the Saints then to do?

And, too, the temple was rent.
Where holy prayers could be sent.
The Son of Heav'nly Father
No more to walk on water.

He tortured and killed, what grave sorrow.
Gone was their hope of a bright tomorrow.
Gone was the hope of being saved
From the bondage that Rome had paved

That Friday was the darkest
In history. No joy could be harnessed
Devastating sorrow gnawed.
As deep in their souls it clawed.

Their beloved Savior had died.
But, suddenly word came, their tears dried.
The worst doom could not endure.
Eternal Life was now assured!

The glorious Lord was now raised.
They cried when upon Him they gazed.
Though dark days come. We've Fridays.
Bright days await. We've Sundays.

For us in Heaven there is a place.
There is a Lord offering grace.
He lives! We will see His face,
Feel His marks, and Him embrace!

-Elder Wirthlin
Joseph B. Wirthlin, Nov 2006, “Sunday Will Come, ” Liahona