There once was a man named Jesus: 
A carpenter by trade,
Not famed for his chairs and tables,
But the people that he made!
Not with chisel, saw and hammer,
But with words both wise and true
He shaped them for God’s service 
And he showed them what to do.

He said God was his Father
And he his Father’s Son
His deeds, though quite amazing,
Did not please everyone.
Yet normal folk admired him: 
He cared for those in need.
While children he would welcome
And hungry crowds would feed.

His nation had some leaders
Who loved their wealth and power
They plotted how to kill him
And seized him one late hour.
They claimed he was a rebel
And deemed him fit to die
Their governor condemned him
As they yelled: “Crucify!” 

His death was slow and painful:
Nailed to a cross of wood.
He hung there for many hours
Till they were sure he was gone for good.
Once dead he was quickly buried
 In a garden cave nearby. 
His death he himself had predicted, 
But he didn’t deserve to die.

On a Friday it was he was buried, 
But on Sunday his friends got a shock:
The mouth of the cave was wide open,
Because someone had moved a huge rock.
In vain his disciples had entered:
They found Jesus’ body not there!
Who was it that wanted to take it?
If only they knew who and where! 

They’d forgotten his other prediction,
That after he died he would rise.
It must have been hard to believe it, 
Until he was seen by their eyes!
We read their reports in the Gospels, 
Like those penned by Matthew and John,
For those who will choose to believe them,
The impact of Jesus lives on.