When thy Son, O God, was sleeping,
In death's rocky prison bound,
When his faithful ones were weeping,
And the guards were watching round,
Then thy word, that strong house shaking,
Rent the rocky bars away,
And the holy sleeper, waking,
Rose to meet the rising day.
Where thy word, by Jesus spoken,
In its power is heard even now,
Shake the hills, the rocks are broken,
As on Calvary's trembling brow.
From the bosom of the mountain,
At that word, these stones have burst,
And have gathered round the fountain
Where our souls may quench their thirst.
Here the water of salvation
Long hath gushed, a liberal wave;
Here a Father of our nation
Drank, and felt the strength it gave.
Here he sleeps, his bed how lowly!
But his aim and trust were high;
And his memory,-that is holy;
And his name,-it cannot die.
While beneath this temple's portal
Rest the relies of the just,
While the light of hope immortal
Shines above his sacred dust,
While the well of life its waters
To the weary here shall give,
Father, may thy sons and daughters,
Kneeling round it, drink and live!