But I Know Where He Lives

Now, let me make sure I understand.
We had this wonderful, well-thought plan,
all worked out to the last detail.
We all agreed it couldn’t fail.
And now you’re saying the man’s not there?
That rock-hewn tomb is completely bare?
Do you take me for a fool?

Perhaps you partied too much last night.
You’ve imagined all this, a death-filled flight
from a rock-sealed, guarded, granite grave?
But wait, I see.  A ransom you crave.
You’ve the nerve to come here and say to me
that he’s gone, escaped, been set free.
If so, you’re the next to die.

Get out!  Search the streets and find this man!
Go spread the alarm across the land.
This Jesus, the one they call the King,
will feel the pain of this scorpion’s string!
Pray hard, my friend, that you find this Jew,
for your fate, and that of your fumbling crew,
hangs in the balance here.

But who could have rolled that stone away?
The strength required!  It was there to stay!
Perhaps this God they talk about
who, by the way, I sincerely doubt,
has power and strength to raise the dead?
Could it be true?  All that they said?
I’ll think on that awhile.

The days went by but he was not found.
For sure, no longer in the ground.
Then reports began to filter in:
he preached last night at the village inn.
He was here, then there, and all around
teaching of love.  A King with no crown.
Alive, and changing the world.

This story’s been told forever, I think.
Time goes so fast.  Just like a blink.
It seems like only yesterday
when I heard that foolish man grovel and say:
We’ve searched high and low and all around.
This Jesus is nowhere to be found.
Ah, but I know where he lives.

In the hearts of all who seek His way.