No stone left on another, but every one thrown down; with brother killing brother while kings and empires drown: here is the news, the story this Jesus has to tell: the only path to glory, across the brink of hell. A perfume-bearing daughter anoints him for his doom; a man who fetches water reveals an upper room. another will deny him, another will betray; and when they crucify him all hell is on display. The cup that he has taken points well beyond that night; but then that cry ' Forsaken!' obliterates the light. Among us is there any prepared to call him friend? His blood is shed for many; but seems to mark his end. The women in the morning have fears about a stone; the week is hardly dawning before they find him gone. But opened is the prison and nothing stays the same; this Jesus - he is risen! He comes, and speaks my name. By stones and graves and dying we mark our time and place; repent, for days are flying! rejoice, for years of grace! and while the earth is turning it is not yet too late; in Jesus we are learning the gates of heaven await.