In Celebration of Easter
"The angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid, for I know that
you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here;
He has risen, just as He said." Matthew 28:5-6.
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"The Praying Hands"
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Easter Hymns
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Christ, the Lord, Is Risen
Today.
Crown Him with Many Crowns
The Old Rugged Cross
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Christ, the Lord, Is Risen Today
By Charles Wesley
Christ, the Lord is risen today,
Alleluia!
Sons of men and angels say:
Alleluia!
Raise your joys and triumphs high,
Alleluia!
Sing, ye heavens, and earth, reply,
Alleluia!
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Lives again our glorious King:
Alleluia!
Where, O death, is now thy sting?
Alleluia!
Dying once, He all doth save:
Alleluia!
Where thy victory, O grave?
Alleluia!
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Love's redeeming work is done,
Alleluia!
Fought the fight, the battle won;
Alleluia!
Death in vain forbids Him rise;
Alleluia!
Christ has opened Paradise.
Alleluia!
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Soar we now, where Christ has led,
Alleluia!
Following our exalted Head;
Alleluia!
Made like Him, like Him we rise;
Alleluia!
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies;
Alleluia!
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Crown Him with Many Crowns
By Matthew Bridges
Crown Him with many crowns,
The Lamb upon His throne.
Hark! how the heav'nly anthem drowns
All music but its own!
Awake, my soul, and sing
Of Him who died for thee,
And hail Him as Thy matchless King
Thro' all eternity.
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Crown Him the Lord of Love!
Behold His hands and side -
Rich wound, yet visible above,
In beauty glorified.
All hail, Redeemer, hail!
For Thou has died for me.
Thy praise shall never, never fail
Thro'-out eternity.
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Crown Him the Lord of Life!
Who triumphed o'er the grave;
Who rose victorious to the strife
For those He came to save.
His glories now we sing
Who died and rose on high,
Who died eternal life to bring,
And lives that death may die.
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Crown Him the Lord of Heav'n!
One with the Father known,
One with the Spirit thro' Him giv'n
From yonder glorious throne!
To Thee be endless praise,
For Thou for us hast died,
Be Thou, O Lord, Thro' endless days
Adored and magnified.
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The Old Rugged Cross
By George Bennard
On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suff'ring and shame;
And I love that old cross, where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.
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Chorus:
So I'll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it someday for a crown.
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Oh, that old rugged cross, so despised by the world,
Has a wondrous attraction for me;
For the dear Lamb of God left His glory above
To bear it to dark Calvary.
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In the old rugged cross, stained with blood so divine,
A wondrous beauty I see,
For 'twas on that old cross Jesus suffered and died
To pardon and sanctify me.
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To the old rugged cross I will ever be true;
Its shame and reproach gladly bear;
Then He'll call me someday to my home far away,
Where His glory forever I'll share.
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Easter Poetry
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Heaven's Song
Poem by Allison Chambers Coxsey
Copyright 1999
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May the music of the heavens,
Dance around you in the air;
May the peace of God the father,
Keep your heart and soul from care.
May each step that you are taking,
Be paved with great success;
And behind each door you open,
There be love and happiness.
May the gift of true contentment,
Glow like sunlight on your face;
May the angels sing into your life,
A song of God's own grace.
And everywhere you travel,
Each path that you walk on;
May the Father's love shine forth from you,
In each note of every song.
May angels keep guard over you,
As you walk along lifes way;
And may your life be truly blessed,
As you start this brand new day.
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Printed By Permission of Author Allison Chambers Coxsey
Copyright 1999.
Click the link below to read more of
Allison Chamber Coxsey's exquisite poetry:
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"The History Of The Praying Hands"
Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a
family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on
the table for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith
by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other
paying chore he could find in the neighborhood.
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Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of Albrecht Durer the Elder's
children had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but
they knew full well that their father would never be financially able to
send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the Academy.
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After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally
worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the
nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while he attended
the academy. Then, when that brother who won the toss completed his studies,
in four years, he would support the other brother at the academy, either
with sales of his artwork or, if necessary, also by laboring in the mines.
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They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the
toss and went off to Nuremberg.
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Albert went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed
his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation.
Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those
of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning
to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works.
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When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a festive
dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht's triumphant homecoming. After
a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose
from his honored position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his
beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Albrecht to fulfill
his ambition. His closing words were, "And now, Albert, blessed brother of
mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream,
and I will take care of you."
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All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert
sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side
to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, "No ...no ...no ...no."
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Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down
the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close to
his right cheek, he said softly, "No, brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg.
It is too late for me. Look ... look what four years in the mines have done
to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and
lately I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that
I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate
lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother ... for me
it is too late."
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More than 450 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful
portraits, pen and silver-point sketches, watercolors, charcoals, woodcuts,
and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds
are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht
Durer's works. More than merely being familiar with it, you very well may
have a reproduction hanging in your home or office.
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One day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht
Durer painstakingly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and
thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply "Hands,"
but the entire world almost immediately opened their hearts to his great
masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love "The Praying Hands."
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The next time you see a copy of that touching creation, take a second look.
Let it be your reminder, if you still need one, that no one - no one - -
ever makes it alone!
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~Source Unknown~
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