Although I know they still on me are spying,
It will no longer matter what I do.
I’ll tell my secret, for I now am dying.
Then I in peace can to my fathers go.

With other soldiers I that night was standing
At Jesus’ grave, the Jew they crucified.
Our constant watchfulness they were demanding.
I didn’t know why: we all knew that He died.

It seems that He had said while He was living
That He would rise again from death and grave.
I thought that no one credence should be giving
To such a tale, at least no Roman brave.

A night is long: I stood there bored and sullen.
In secret I was hoping for a solid fight,
For yes, the corpse might secretly be stolen.
That is what the centurion said last night.

But nothing happened till the dawn was breaking.
I still don’t know what first of all there was:
The groaning of the stone or what was making
The sound of countless feet upon the grass.

The ground moved, as if earth a sigh was heaving.
A lightning flash! A thunderclap was heard.
I still saw all the other watchmen fleeing,
But I, I at the open grave just stared.

He came, and shone as when the sun is shining,
And as a flower that opens up with glee.
He perfect was, as from God’s bosom rising,|
His eyes were sparkling, bright as dawn can be.

And then I fled; but when I, scared and shaken,
My story told, no one believed a word.
They sneered His corpse had secretly been taken
While we, the watchmen, slept as we were bored.

They offered money if I would be telling
That I’d been dreaming yonder at the grave.
For money I my honour then was selling.
But to be rid of Jesus . . . money never gave.

I know: I was a coward when agreeing
And with that lie to live on all my life.
But now I can’t lose anything: I’m dying.
And now I say it: He indeed did rise!